Gods and Strangers: Mercury's Message
by Validated Asshole
Summary: The beginning of Hari's story, because every hero needs his origins. (Or rather, in which a little boy is damned for the greater good, Ms. Figg is an angel, and Hari wishes he understood a bit more.)
1. Chapter 1

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains racism, racial slurs, and very slight implications of future child abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

* * *

Wings of Hermes

(Or rather, of Hagrid)

This story starts on a perfectly normal Sunday, on a perfectly normal street, in a perfectly normal house. The particular house in question was nearly imperceptible from the rows upon rows of cookie-cut houses, but we shall begin with the one labeled _Number Four_.

Within the perfectly normal _Number Four_ lived the equally normal Dursleys. The Dursleys were the sort of people who you'd least expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, simply because they didn't put up with such nonsense.

Vernon Dursley worked at a company called CoreWorth, which made and sold investments. He was a rather large man, and reminded many of an unholy offspring between an elephant seal and a silverback gorilla. Petunia Dursley was a tall woman made of sharp angles and double the normal allowance of a neck _(which came in very useful when she decided to peep on the neighbors)_. The last of the Dursleys was Dudley Dursley, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's son, whom they believed to be the finest boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, and yet, they had a terrible secret. Their worst fear was the discovery of this secret, of their connection to the _Potters_. Lily Potter was Petunia's younger sister, but Petunia hadn't had any contact with her as long as she could prevent it. In fact, Mrs. Dursley liked to pretend that she didn't have a sister, because freakish Lily Potter and her freakish husband were as strange and as unnatural and as _Un-Dursleyish_ as it was possible to be.

The Dursleys shuddered to imagine what the neighbors would think if the Potters arrived on the street. For years Petunia had prayed at St. Catherine's Mercy, desperate for misfortune to fall upon her sister and her freakish family to prevent such an act. And of course, what had to happen except Mrs. Dursley's mother to call, elated, with news of Lily's pregnancy.

 _A new witch in the family, how wonderful!_ She had said. Petunia had slammed the phone down onto the receiver and pretended that it didn't hurt that _her own mother_ preferred a freak's pregnancy over Petunia's own.

It wouldn't matter, Petunia had decided, whether her mother loved Lily more; She was fully convinced that the baby would be just as freakish as the Potter seniors, and it served as just another reason for Petunia to keep her family away from them.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke on the perfectly ordinary Sunday where our story starts, there was nothing strange or unnatural about the cloudy, dull sky that could suggest that peculiar things would soon be happening all over the country.

Mrs. Dursley had slipped on a well-used robe that had been a gift from Mr. Dursley, and went to quell the piercing shrieks of her hungry two-year old son. Mr. Dursley simply grumbled and shifted in the queen-size mattress-sag that served as the half of his bed, and went back to sleep. It wouldn't even be till eight-a.m _(as Dudley had the nasty habit of waking up at six)_ that Vernon would be roused by a half-dressed Petunia, and pick out his ugliest tie for Sunday services, while Mrs. Dursley gossiped madly away, wrestling with an agitated Dudley.

Unfortunately, or possibly rather fortunately depending on whether or not you were a Dursley, neither Petunia or Vernon seemed to notice the tawny elf owl that was perching precariously outside their window. If they had, then perhaps their day would have gone a bit differently. Perhaps Mrs. Dursley would have shrieked much like her squalling son instead of complaining about the gaudy pearls decorating her neck being fake. Perhaps Mr. Dursley would have insisted upon staying home instead of venturing out as to ensure no more owls or freakish animals appeared near their home. Perhaps if the Dursleys had noticed these things, they would have discarded the small boy they were soon to find on their doorstep, and our story would be going in quite a different direction.

In any case, the Dursleys did not notice the diminutive owl that seemed to glare holes through the two as they each ventured past the bedroom window. Instead, at half-past eight, Mrs. Dursley fought with Dudley's papoose in the car as Mr. Dursley stuck one of many keys into the front doors' keyhole and waddled over to the driver's side. "Little tyke," Mr. Dudley had chortled as Dudley began tantruming, landing a solid _thwack!_ in Petunia's face.

It wasn't until the corner of Privet Drive that Mrs. Dursley noticed the first sign of something unusual. A cat reading a map. At first, Mrs. Dursley couldn't believe her eyes, and jerked her head around to look again. There, on the curb of the street, was a cat, simply sitting. There wasn't a map, let alone a scrap of paper, in sight. What could she have been thinking? She tittered a laugh to herself, gaining an odd look from her husband as they stopped at the stop sign. She stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley began to press again on the peddle and pass the corner to drive up the road Mrs. Dursley watched the cat in the mirror. It was now reading the large stone sign that said Privet Drive-no, it was looking at the sign. Cats couldn't read maps or signs, or anything else for that matter. Mrs. Dursley gently fluffed her coarse hair and put the cat out of her mind, focusing on whether or not she believed Dudley could be old enough to learn anything at Children's Church.

But by the edge of Padstow, where their church was located, Dudley's courses at Children's Church had all but been put out of Petunia's mind. As the Dursleys sat in their usual Sunday morning traffic jam they couldn't help but notice there seemed to be quite a bit of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley began to rave about _'the get-ups you see on young people these days!'_ as people dressed in anything even slightly unordinary seemed to personally offend him. Mrs. Dursley's face began to pinch with the scowling sneer set up on her face, nodding her head with Vernon's tirade against the _'immigrant influence.'_ Mr. Dursley began drumming his fingers angrily against the steering wheel as his eyes fell on a huddle of those weirdos standing quite close by. Aliens, they were. He knew. They were whispering excitedly together. _'Probably a terrorist plot,'_ Mr. Dursley had thought.

He became especially enraged, so much so that his wife put a hand over his beefy arm in comfort, when he saw that these terrorists weren't young men at all. They were older than Mr. Dursley himself! Wearing ridiculously bright colours; yellows and blues and violets, all with glittering sequins that sparkled with every minimalistic swish _(if one with an outfit like that could use a word such as)_.

Mr. Dursley began to feel the smallest traces of fear roll inside him like the beads of sweat down his temple. Was this some sort of bombing? A distraction? Mrs. Dursley simply cooed at both her husband and her grunting son, assuring them both that it must be part of some silly stunt. Of course! That _must_ be it. A silly stunt. The traffic moved a few minutes later as they arrived into the St. Catherine's parking lot, the elder Dursleys discussing whether it was more beneficial to have Dudley in Children's Church or the Adult's church.

The Dursleys always sat in the fourth row on the isle side because Mr. Dursley worked as an usher _(and if a few tithings fell into his pocket during donation, well, that was nobody's business)_. If he hadn't then perhaps they would had noticed the many owls swooping to and fro past the delicately colored glass windows. As it was, once again, the peculiarity passed them by and went on to be noticed by the passer-bys outside who gazed open-mouthed at the owls that sped overhead. Many of them had never even seen an owl, even at nighttime. Mr., Mrs., and tiny Dudley Dursley, however, had a very normal, owl-free morning. Mr. Dursley pocketed an extra forty-six pounds, Mrs. Dursley gossiped with Mrs. Greer and Mrs. Blanton about Ms. Figg, and Dudley fussed with his seat straps and threw his toys at the people in the row in front. All in all, they were in a very good mood until lunchtime after the first service when they decided to eat out with Vernon's extra pocket money.

They had forgotten all about the freaks in cloaks until they passed by a gaggle of them on the sidewalk next to the Diner. Mr. Dursley eyed them angrily as he and his wife passed by, Mrs. Dursley clutching Dudley's carrier closer to her bust. These _freaks_ made them uneasy. This bunch seemed to be whispering excitedly, too, and Mr. Dursley couldn't spot a single collecting tin these sorts usually carried. It wasn't till they were inside did the Dursleys catch snippets of what was being said by the cloak-clad weirdos infesting the diner _(both except Dudley, who was more interested in stealing bites from both his parents' plates)_.

 _"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard, in Mungo's—"_

 _"Yes, their son Hari—"_

Mr. Dursley tripped over a table, nearly sending Petunia sprawling. A waitress rushed over to help him and was knocked away. Mrs. Dursley set Dudley on the table that was uprighted and helped her husband up into a chair. Mr. Dursley began muttering to his wife fearfully, about the _you-know-whos_ and the conversation overhead. Mrs. Dursley simply snipped at him that he was being ridiculous, and that it could be anyone they were speaking about "with those sorts of people, Vernon. Those people haven't an original thought in their head, let alone names." Mr. Dursley stroked his mustache and bobbed his head, agreeing. Potter wasn't such an uncommon name, especially for those who stole their way into his good country. He was sure there were several Potters who had a son named Harry, especially those who tried to pass for English.

Come to think of it, the Dursleys weren't even sure their nephew's name was Harry. It could be Harvey, or Henry, or something just as freakish as they are. Petunia was right; there was no point in worrying _(especially when it upset Mrs. Dursley so)_. He didn't blame her—if _he'd_ had a sister like that...but all the same, those freaks in cloaks…

They ordered their food from the same flustered waitress whom Mr. Dursley had shoved, and sipped haughtily from their teacups as they arrived. The tray arrived a few minutes later, with Mrs. Dursley's plate of eggs and toast and Mr. Dursley's plates of pancakes, eggs, sausage, and bacon. It took sparingly few minutes before Vernon was finished with his food and Dudley began to squall. His ear piercing cries were ignored by his parents, who left the other patrons to suffer, as Petunia finished her plate and called for the bill.

As they left with the hysterical Dudley in tow, much to the relief of the remaining diners and staff, Mr. Dursley nearly felled a stranger who slammed into him.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny man stumbled back. It was a few moments before Mr. Dursley realized the tiny brown man was wearing a glimmering violet cloak. He didn't seem upset at all being nearly knocked to the ground, or by the sour look upon Mr. Dursley's face directed at him. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a _(to Mr. Dursley's ears)_ heavily accented, squeaky voice, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

Petunia violently flinched, and the man had the audacity to hug Mr. Dursley so hard around the middle his nose dug into Mr. Dursley's large stomach.

Mr. Dursley stood frozen in place. He had just been hugged by this—this _freak_. He also thought he has been called a 'muggle', whatever that was.

 _'Even if they don't belong here, still, can't you learn the damn language of the blasted country you're contaminating?'_ He had thought viciously.

As the Dursleys pulled past the gates to Privet Drive and back into the driveway of Number Four the first thing Mrs. Dursley saw was the tabby cat she'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on the garden wall corner of Number Four and Number Three. She was sure it was the same one; it was the same silvery-grey colour with black markings around its eyes. Its long, fluffy tail flicked back and forth sharply and it seemed to glare at them as they got out of the car.

"Shoo!" Mrs. Dursley shrieked, swatting in its direction with the hand not wrapped around Dudley's baby-seat.

The cat didn't move. If anything, its tufted ears laid horizontally from its head and its eyes slid to stern slits. Huffing and trying to pull herself together, Mrs. Dursley followed her husband into the house. She was determined not to let any of this get to her.

The time at back at their home through dinner was fairly normal. Mr. Dursley spoke about his new investments and how he was expecting a raise quite soon. Mrs. Dursley relayed the gossip learned from Mrs. Greer and Blanton, especially about how Mr. Number Sixteen's wife was apparently leaving him for a younger man. After dinner, when Dudley had been put to bed Mr. and Mrs. Dursley went into the living room to catch the last report on the evening news:

 _"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere are astounded by the nation's owls' activity today. Owls, who are nocturnal predators, have been seen flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why these birds have suddenly changed their instinctual patterns."_ The newscaster plastered a strained grin on his face. _"And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"_

 _"Well, Ted,"_ said the weatherman, _"I don't know about that, but it's not just birds that have been acting batty lately. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a shower of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night a bit early—it's only a few days away folks! But I can promise a wet one tonight."_

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair, while Mrs. Dursley sat with her long fingernails clutching gouges in the couch cushions. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks invading all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about _Potters_ …

He could feel his forehead flushing and moistening, and knew it was no good. He would have to ask. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Er—Tuney, darling—you haven't heard from your sister lately have you?"

As expected, her gaze snapped over to him, shocked and angry. The teacup currently lying in pieces on the carpet that had been dangling from her hands was a surprise, though. After all, they usually pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No. I haven't even spoken to Mother," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled, pointing a round finger vaguely in its direction, "Owls...shooting stars… and _those people_ we saw in town today—"

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought...maybe...it was something to do with...you know... _her crowd_."

Mrs. Dursley looked like Mr. Dursley had just killed her favourite cat _(as if he could do such a thing, since Petunia hated animals)_ , sitting rigidly on the puce coloured couch, breathing hotly through her nose.

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. However, while Mr. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mrs. Dursley crept to the large bedroom window and peered out to the front garden. The cat was still there. It was now staring down Privet Drive as if waiting for something.

Was she imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with _her_? If it did...if it got out that they were related to a—well she didn't think she could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mr. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mrs. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in her mind. Her last, comforting thought before she fell asleep was that even if the Potters _were_ involved, there was no reason for them to come near her and Mr. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what she and Vernon thought about them and their kind...she couldn't see how she and Vernon could get mixed up in anything that might be going on—she yawned and turned over—it couldn't affect _them_ …

How very wrong she was.

Mrs. Dursley might have been drifting off into an easy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no signs of weariness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the entrance corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a dog began barking madly, nor when a small elf owl swooped down and perched on the raised square across from the cat itself. The owl copied the cat's almost lifeless stance and it was nearly midnight before either of them moved.

A man appeared on the corner the animals had been watching, so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed, while the owl's feathers ruffled and it gave a small _"Hoo."_

Nothing like this man had even been seen on Privet Drive, even on Hallow's Eve. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt _(that luckily he refrained from)_. He was wearing long maroon robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was nearly as thin as he was, as well as long and crooked. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize, or perhaps was simply unbothered, by the fact that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging through the many pockets of his cloak, looking for something. He did seem to realize he was being watched though, as he looked up from his pockets to the cat and from the cat to the owl. For some reason, this seemed to amuse him. He chuckled to himself and muttered, "I should have known."

He has seemed to of found what he was looking for as he fished out what seemed to be an intricate, long, silver cigarette lighter. He held it up near his head, and clicked it. The nearest lantern-style street light went out with a muted _pop_. He clicked it again—another near dozen times—till the nearest eleven street lights were out and the entrance to Privet Drive was shrouded in darkness; the only light being the pinpricks of yellow from an irritant cat's and a curious owl's eyes. He seemed to be satisfied that no one would be able to peep outside their windows onto them, and slipped the strange device back into one of his many pockets.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professors." he greeted as he sat down on a decorative rock in the road verge. The cat hopped down and strut quickly over to him, as the owl flew strangely skillfully to perch near the strange man.

Before the cat reached him, it morphed into a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing oval spectacles exactly the shape the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her salt-and-peppered hair was drawn into a tight bun, and she looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day." Professor McGonagall sniffed.

"Oh, Minerva! You should have been more _inconspicuous_." came a squeaky voice.

A small man, no larger than a six-year old child, was standing next to Albus, all traces of the owl gone. He was wearing a tea coloured conductor-like suit with a yellow half-cape. He had a short mustache and what could be considered a bowl-like haircut.

"Professor Flitwick, I would have thought you'd be celebrating, I must have past at least a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily at Dumbledore's insinuation, while Flitwick looked morose.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the _Muggles_ have noticed something is going on."

"Yes, it was on their news," Flitwick nodded. "Flocks of owls, shooting stars...well they aren't completely oblivious. Shooting stars down in Kent! I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense." he huffed out his nose.

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for a dozen years."

"But that's no reason to lose our heads," McGonagall said irritably. "People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp glance at Dumbledore, as if she expected him to tell her something, but he didn't and was interrupted before she could start again.

"A fine thing it'd be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all." Flitwick grinned, his short mustache coming up to tickle his nose _(which produced a rather high pitched sneeze)_.

"So, I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?" the stern McGonagall seemed almost unsure of herself, which was a very odd and unnatural look upon such a woman.

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you like a lemon drop?"

"A _what_?"

"A lemon drop. They're a type of Muggle sweet I'm fond of."

"No thank you," said McGonagall coldly, as if she didn't think this was quite the time for the talk of _lemon drops_.

"I'll have one Albus!" Flitwick raised his arm and outstretched rather long fingers for someone of such a short stature.

"As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone—"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense—for years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort_." Both Professors flinched, though Flitwick's reaction was slightly more comical due to the sour candy in his mouth. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who'. We'd get them all switched," he continued, unsticking two lemon drops and pretending not to notice their reactions, "I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name than any of the others."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-Who—oh, all right, _Voldemort_ , was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly, "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Half of the _You-Know-Who's_ have! It's only because you're too _noble_ to use them." said Flitwick.

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the _rumors_ that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

"Minerva—" Flitwick tried to reach out for her, but stopped as she pierced him with a fierce stare.

It seemed that she had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat or as a woman had she fixed either of her companions with such a look as she was trading between them. Dumbledore, however, chose not to answer. Instead, he was choosing another lemon drop.

"What they're _saying_ ," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Saint Mungo's. He went to find the Potters and the Longbottoms. The rumor is that Lily and James, and Alice are—are—that they're— _dead_."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Flitwick laid his head along McGonagall's robes and pat her back. McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James...I can't believe it...I didn't want to believe it...Oh poor _Frank_ …"

Shining tears slid down her face as Dumbledore reached out and patted her shoulder. "I know...I know…" he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Longbottom boy, Neville, and the Potter boy, Hari. But-he couldn't. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill the first boy, Neville Longbottom, Voldemort's power somehow broke, and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's—It's _true_?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done...all the people he's killed...he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding...of all the things to stop him...but how in the name of Circe did Neville survive? And what of the Potter boy, Hari? How did Neville possibly save _himself_ , let alone _another child_?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles, leaning on Professor Flitwick as much as she could. Flitwick rubbed what of her back he could reach soothingly, murmuring soft words. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden pocket watch from one of his pockets and examined it. It was a very odd watch, with twelve hands pointing at planets instead of numbers that moved around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, as in any case he placed it back in a pocket and said "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way."

"I followed Filius, whom Hagrid told," she sniffed. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ you're here of all places?"

"I've come to bring Hari to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

Both Flitwick and McGonagall protested at once.

"You don't mean—you _can't_ mean the people who live _here_?"

"Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching this house all day—"

"And I've followed them!"

"—You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son—I saw him kicking all the way up the street, screaming for sweets!"

" _And_ what about his skin? These people are even more bigoted than the Morden family!"

Flitwick ended with a huff, while McGonagall gestured her hands to him, nodding vigorously.

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Flitwick faintly, while McGonagall muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _"Oh goody."_

"Really Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous! A legend brother to Neville! I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as _Miracle Boy Day_ in the future-there will be books written of them—every child in our world will know their names!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. In another's shadow before he can walk and talk! Half-famous for something he can't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Flitwick opened his mouth, changed his mind, and swallowed, leaving McGonagall to intervene. "Yes—yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here?" She eyed his cloak as if he might be hiding Hari underneath the folds.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it— _wise_ —to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" Flitwick's nose crinkled unsurely.

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," Flitwick said grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to— _what was that_?"

A loud rumbling sound had broken the silence surrounding them. It grew steadily louder as McGonagall and Flitwick looked up and down the street for signs of a headlight with Dumbledore smiling fondly; it swelled to a roar as they all looked up at the sky—and a huge motorcycle seemed to fall out of the air and land on the street in front of them.

If the motorcycle was large, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride it. He was nearly twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so _wild_ —long tangles of bushy brown hair and beard his most of his face, his hands were the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather-looking boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of multi-coloured blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get the motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir—hospital was mostly destroyed, but I got 'im out 'fore folks starting swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Hagrid held his arms low, so that Flitwick could see when McGonagall and Dumbledore bent over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of wild, jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Dumbledore, what is that?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"A backlash from Neville's magic. The poor boy's face is near half scarred. He'll have it for the rest of his life. They both will."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" questioned Flitwick.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give him here, Hagrid—we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Hari in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I—could I say good-bye to 'im, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over and gave Hari what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss, as the babe began to wrinkle his face up. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor Flitwick, putting a long, bony finger up to his mouth.

"You'll wake the Muggles, Rubeus!" Professor McGonagall laid a comforting arm on the large man, trying to hush him.

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a very large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Lily an' James dead—and poor little Hari off ter live with Muggles—"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor Flitwick whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore flicked his wrist towards a wrought-iron gate and stepped through, following the pathway to the front door. He shifted the boy in his arms and bent over, placing one of the old milk bottles in front of the door just in the center of the doormat. A flick of his wrist and a slim piece of wood fell into his fingers. A whispered word, and a milk bottle morphed into a small wicker basket with a purple pillow inside. He laid the babe onto the pillow and reached into his pocket, placing the letter he found there in plain view. Another flick of his wand, another word, ensured that the letter would stick.

He walked back to the trio, where one by one they took turns placing enchantments on the boy. McGonagall made sure the boy would stay protected from any animals that happened to lurk nearby, with a small crystalline dome that shone if you looked at it _just right_. Flitwick magicked small charms that looked to be fireflies, ensuring the boy would stay warm throughout the night _(due to Hagrid's request, as he was not legally allowed to do magic)_ , and a small, modified _notice-me-not_ charm. Hagrid gave one last, not so small good-bye, and stuffed a clean handkerchief around the boy's sides, and then returned to the corner.

For a full minute the four of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, McGonagall blinked furiously, Flitwick stifled sniffles, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes had seemed to of gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that." We've no business staying here, We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Flitwick—Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professors," said Dumbledore, nodding to the remaining duo. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply, while Professor Flitwick nodded mutely.

Dumbledore stood and walked back down the street. On the corner he took out the strange cigarette-lighter looking device. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back into their street lamps just suddenly enough he could make out a strange cat slinking around the corner. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of Number Four.

"Good luck, Hari," he murmured, as an elf owl swooped overhead. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the flora of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy underneath the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Hari Potter rolled over in his blankets, one hand clutching at the unmoving letter. He would sleep on, not knowing he was famous, not knowing was special, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours by the horrified shrieks of one . He couldn't know that at this very moment, one Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, had signed Hari's fate in a life of hell.

* * *

Author Notes: Currently taking votes for whom Hari should end up with. So far Drarry is the winner, but if you wish to cast your vote please keep in mind that in order to work for this story he must be around Hari's age! (And preferably male).

Also, I hold no similar views that the Dursleys exhibit, and they are _supposed_ to invoke anger/hatred.

Random Note: Word Count is a bit over 6K


	2. Chapter 2

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains racism, racial slurs, and somewhat graphic descriptions of child abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

 _:parseltongue: 'mental conversation/thoughts'_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

* * *

Echo of a Memory

(Or rather, of a Song)

He had been having the dream again. The one of darkness with a soft humming from a lady he didn't know, following the tinkling notes that came from above. The one where he was wrapped tightly. Warmly. _Safely._ And then he was picked up by large,soft hands that held him close and whispered, _"We love you, Hari."_ The one that caused him to forget himself and sing softly in the bathroom when he thought Mrs. Petunia was in the other room, resulting in a sharp smack that had his head cracking against the hard bathtub.

Hari was four now, not that he knew that. The Dursleys seldom let him know the time of the day, let alone which number it was on the calendar _(as if they would have told him anyway)_. He was a smart boy, and sometimes, very privately, almost proud of himself. He knew how to make the coffee and breakfast, how to scrub the tiles and the granite of the house till it shone, and how to do most of the laundry all by himself.

These were things that made the Dursleys happy. Things that didn't get him in trouble. He had learned the hard way what happened when he didn't do his chores right, or if he didn't finish them in time. He still had a large scar on his left leg where the Dursleys allowed Dudley to see how many times Hari could be pushed down the stairs before he stopped getting up.

Now he sat in his small room, a cupboard, to be precise, pushing the pain away from his most recent punishment. He didn't know the difference between a cupboard and a proper room, since it was the only thing he could ever remember staying in.

 _'Liar,'_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. His dream. He could remember being held by something large and soft, like the baby-bed he was learning to make up for the baby Petunia was going to have soon.

 _'But it was a dream and dreams are nonsense and nonsense gets me punished,'_ Hari told the voice fervently.

Nonsense did get Hari punished, especially when it was Hari's _special_ sort of nonsense. The first time, he had been reprimanded because he dropped a plate. His face had stung awfully, and his nose began to bleed all over the carpet. He knew the bleeding would mean _more_ punishment, since it was him who made the mess, until the blood was just _—_ gone. Gone from his face, the carpet, the scraps he wore as clothes _—_ it was all gone.

That night Hari had his first ever broken bone, if you didn't count his nose, as punishment for his special nonsense.

And now, he was arguing with a voice in his head that suggested he use his _special_ thing to fix his arm. Hari was curled protectively around it atop a worn dishmat over the floor, whimpering quietly.

It was another thing he had almost mastered: silence. Whether it was creeping around at night to steal drinks of water his _companion_ had convinced him they needed, or crying in his cupboard as to not wake the Dursleys.

His companion had also been teaching him something else in the silence. He called it _magic_. It was how he opened the outside locks from the inside of his cupboard and made sure not even Mrs. Petunia could find fault in his cleaning.

His voice was trying to teach him how to use _magic_ to fix his arm. Hari had tried, but it only made it glow slightly before the pain faded for a few hours. It came back in full force when he was thrown in his room because of his singing.

 _'Try again,'_ his companion hissed. His voice was, Hari imagined, like the snakes he would spy on the telly sometimes. _'Imagine your arm whole again. Fill it with your magic.'_

Hari tried again. He thought about being able to move his arm, being pain-free, being as close as he could be to healthy again. He didn't even get a glow this time.

 _'I don't know how!'_

He imagined his companion rearing up like a snake and hissing. He wasn't angry, not at Hari. Hari could tell. He could feel his companion sliding around in his head, as if he was looking for something. Hari didn't know what he could be looking for, since Companion seemed to be a lot smarter than Hari was.

 _'Feel it. In the air. It's thick, like cloth. Imagine it as a colour. Give it essence_ _ _—_ it isn't **inanimate**.'_

Hari didn't quite know what _inanimate_ meant, but he did as told to the best of his abilities. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine his magic around him. He knew what it felt like due to the precious few times he had been able to use it, and almost flinched when he felt a massive presence draping across him. It felt dark green, like a lizard! He giggled quietly to himself and felt soft, affectionate pats in his mind at his observation. It stretched to the entirety of his room, yet seemed suffocated, as if it was containing itself.

 _'...it's **big**.'_ Hari marvelled to Companion.

 _'Yes,'_ Companion sounded strange. _'You will only grow stronger. But for now, you must learn how to use it. Imagine your magic filling your arm and making it white.'_

 _'White? Is brown bad?'_ Hari looked at his arms self-consciously. He didn't know what to do if Companion thought he was ugly too.

 _'Not like that, young one. White light. Like….a lightbulb.'_ His companion didn't seem to like lightbulbs, the way he sneered its' name. Hari was surprised and fell against the crude wall when he suddenly saw pictures before his eyes, like a vivid telly in his head.

He took calming, silencing breaths before he copied the pictures that had been pushed to the forefront of his mind. He gathered small bits of his magic that he knew how to handle and pushed it through his fingertips. He imagined a sort of wall stopping it at his elbow, so that his magic could fill up his arm until it reached his wrist. Then he made it turn white.

 _'Now repeat after me: Therapavo.'_

 _":Therapavo.:"_ He didn't even notice he wasn't speaking english; he was too distracted by his arm being jerked back into place and a sharp _snap_ that echoed off the splintered walls. His eyes saw pitch black for a moment before all the pain radiating from his arm was gone.

 _'It's...it's fixed,'_ as if Hari couldn't believe it himself.

 _'I told you that you could do it. Do not doubt me again.'_ His companion sounded both irritated and smug. _'Now, you need food.'_

Hari could feel what he could only think of as heavily huffs of breath inside his head, as if his Companion had just ran away from Mr. Vernon's sister, Mrs. Nelson's, dog Razor.

 _'I just made dinner. I have to wait until tomorrow….Are you okay?'_

 _'I am—tired,'_ Companion said carefully. _'It takes a lot of **my** magic to show you things.'_

 _'So it's hard?'_

 _'It is not— **hard**!' _Hari's companion sounded offended. He shifted inside the boy's mind slowly. _'It is irrelevant. You need food or you will become weak. If you become weak you will die, and I will not allow that.'_

Hari felt something he hadn't ever felt before. Someone _cared_ for him. He didn't know precisely why, or realize that if he died then so would his companion _(and perhaps that was the reason he mentored Hari so)_ , Hari just knew that someone cared if he didn't live anymore. He felt a metaphorical bond form between himself and his companion as he hissed the magic word _Alohomora_ and crept out of his room.

He peeked around the corner of the stairs and listened very carefully for breathing. He could hear the telly going in the living room being muffled by Dudley's loud laughter. Petunia would be on bedrest now after each meal, and Vernon was away at work. Hari slid around the corner and tiptoed across the large, open hall that served as a midway from the living room, the dining room, and his goal: the kitchen.

He dove for the island cabinets and braced himself against the back of it as heavy footsteps thudded towards the fridge. Hari was hiding under the lid of the cabinet as Dudley ransacked through the refrigerator.

 _'This is your chance!'_ His companion's voice rang out through his mind.

 _'Now? Dudley is right there!'_

 _'No. Take something when he leaves and let the pig take the blame.'_

Hari could feel him slinking around, as if preparing to strike out. He was sluggish though, in his voice and the mental impressions that Hari imagined as movements, and it worried Hari. He swore he would never make his Companion do that again. He would try harder, do better. For him.

When Dudley left, taking half the supply of Petunia's rice puddings, Hari made his move. He shot out like a snake and shoved his fingers between the door before it could close, ignoring the pain that blossomed at his fingertips. He cracked open the door and slipped his arm inside, pawing for the pudding cups. His fingers grazed the foil covering and he snatched it, pulling his arm back and gently shut the door, careful not to make too much noise.

He felt nothing but freedom rushing back to his cupboard, ripping the tinfoil off of his prize. He made sure to whisper _Straiga_ to seal his door in between cherished bites of food from his fingers. He felt nothing but elation at his newfound trick, and praised his companion, who was silent the rest of the night. Hari left a bit of his treat for the Huntsman spiders that kept him company, shoving the cheap, plastic cup in the furthest webbed corner before curling on his dishrag and falling asleep.

* * *

He had been caught. He had tried his trick of stealing food again, only Vernon had come home early. He had walked in on Hari nicking a can of soup from the pantry. He had wrenched the can away from Hari and the next thing he knew was a sharp, exploding pain across his temple. He had been knocked to the floor, with it pressed up against his cheek as he felt liquid drip down over his brow. His relief was small, only as long as it took Vernon to fall to his knees and bring his arm above his own head for another strike. All Hari knew afterwards were the bruising strikes against him, more often than not leaving small slices along his body. It seemed to last hours each time he was hit, and seconds between each respite, until the can burst against his body and he was coated in nearly-expired tomato soup.

"Clean it up, fucking _sand nigger_ ," He hissed.

Tears leaked out of Hari's eyes, and he allowed himself small, noisy sniffs before pushing himself up on his left side, careful of the stinging cuts littering his right. He didn't know what those words meant, but he knew Vernon called him that a lot.

 _'Everything hurts,'_ he cried, even inside his head.

 _'If I could, I would kill him,'_ Companion promised.

 _'That's not nice,'_ he reprimanded softly, even as black fireworks exploded behind his eyes when he put any weight on his right sight. He winced back onto his left side, using his dominant hand to lean on and pick up the abandoned can with the other.

 _'And look at what they've done to you! Filthy muggles.'_

Hari ignored the ranting of his companion, and the numerous ways that his companion promised their deaths. He couldn't comprehend most of them anyway. Instead, he grit his teeth and heaved himself off of the floor using the cabinets as leverage. He limped to the trash bin and dropped the soup tin inside. He shut the cabinet door that held the bin and fetched a rag from the drawers. He wet it and began his trek back to his mess.

His companion was silent by the time Hari began scrubbing the floor. Instead of words, Hari felt a magic different than his own _(the sparingly few times he had used it)_ flow through his body. It felt dark; like boiling blood. It coiled around his right side and he could feel it stinging as it weaved between his muscles and bones.

It was odd and unpleasant and he hated it, but he trusted his companion. He could feel the right side of his ribcage constricting, shortening his breath and increasing his heart rate. He had stopped scrubbing the mess and was bracing himself in the puddle. It was of no use when the full force hit.

After the magic had braided through his body, the stinging began to increase until it felt like his entire right side was on pins and needles. Then everything seemed to explode. Hari couldn't even scream as it felt like half of him was being burned alive from the inside. He collapsed in the puddle on the brink of forced consciousness, his mind filled with static and random thoughts he knew weren't his own.

 _'Muggles. Magic. Hogwarts. **Safety**.'_

Knowledge from his companion had blended with his own. He knew more, felt more, saw more, _was_ more. He rose into a kneeling position on the floor, distantly fascinated that he was no longer in pain. He flexed his right hand, which felt static-like and strangely still, but proper.

He scrubbed the rest of the mess absently, venturing back and forth from the sink to the puddle on shaky legs. He noticed the mess had gotten noticeably bigger and more diluted. He decidedly did not think about how that came to be, And set about finishing his chore.

Once the mess was gone, he limped to the laundry room and dropped the dirty rag inside the sink there. He knew he would be expected to be in his cupboard, so that was his next destination.

 _'What is Hogwarts?'_ Hari asked, even though he felt parts of him already _knew_.

 _'It's a school. Away from Muggles.'_ Companion sniffed as if Hari should know this already, as if he expected him to know it. It was ignored by both parties how exhausted he sounded.

 _'What even **is** a Muggle?'_

His companion shifted slowly in his mind. Hari could feel his magic pressing on different places in his mind as he almost seemed to pace, or shrug.

 _'It is what they are. Useless. Magicless. Less in everything. Stupid.'_ But even he sounded somewhat unsure of himself, as if repeating something he had heard.

Hari didn't seem very sure of that explanation. After all—Mrs. Petunia had gone to _college_ and she always told him that he'd never be able to go. Mr. Vernon had a very nice job, and always told him that he'd be lucky if the Dursleys kept him around after he turned 18. And Dudley went to _school_! A lot of kids that looked the size Hari was went to school, and Hari himself didn't, so he must not be very smart.

Hari suddenly felt very self conscious. He had thought because he knew how to do things that Dudley couldn't do that he must have been terribly smart. He hadn't considered that _Dudley_ knew how to do things that _Hari_ didn't…

He rubbed his arms and winced at the muted pain that ran through where he touched. He scoot over to the cracks in the door and held his arm up to the light. There were faint, purpling marks mottling his skin. He knew from experience that they would only get darker and icky looking, and take longer to heal.

 _'Why aren't the purples gone?'_

 _'I fear if I healed your bruises the great oaf would beat you more.'_ His companion sounded apologetic. Hari didn't know why, _he_ wasn't the one who hurt Hari.

Either way, Hari curled up onto his dishrag that currently served as a mattress, and tried to go to sleep.

* * *

His dream was strange...almost not like a dream at all. He was in darkness, _aware_ , and for a moment he thought that he was having the song dream again. But instead of the motherly humming he expected, there was soft laughter that was _definitely_ male.

Laughter that sounded vaguely familiar in his fogged mind. Laughter that became very familiar when he felt what was like thick, silk smoke brush up against his body and wrap around him.

 _'Hari…'_ He whispered, and Hari could have cried. It was the closest thing he'd ever had to a hug.

 _'I'm here,'_ he called out desperately, afraid Companion wouldn't be able to hear him. In return, he was completely enveloped in the smoke. It was suffocatingly thick, but Hari knew he would be okay. Companion would never hurt him.

 _'How are you in my dream?'_

The smoke seemed to vibrate with the rich laughter that returned.

 _'It is not a dream, Hari, we are inside your mind. I am here because you have allowed us to merge.'_

 _'Why do you keep calling me that?'_ Hari asked. He didn't know his own name, he was always one of those words that the Dursleys called him.

 _'Calling you what?'_

 _'Hari.'_

The smoke stilled for a moment, soft brushes against his skin that Hari imagined should feel like when Ms. Petunia held Dudley.

 _'Hari is your name.'_

Hari fell back on what he thought served as the floor. It looked just as dark as the rest of the place, and for a moment he was scared he'd fall through. His companion began squeezing him reassuringly. Never long enough to hurt, just varying enough to comfort the small boy.

 _'My name? Harry?'_

 _'No. Hari. It's Indian, like your father.'_

 _'My father was a no-good, unemployed raghead who knocked up my mother and forced her to marry him.'_ Hari recited. It was what he was taught every time he asked. And every time he didn't, really.

 _'Do not say those words,'_ Companion's smoke became thinner than high-mountain air. Hari could imagine needle-sharp spines rippling from his edges. _'Those are ugly words. Ugly words for ugly people. Just like a Muggle to use them.'_

 _'Why does he use them then?'_ Hari interrupted Companion's rather long-winded tirade about the 'contamination of Muggles'. He sucked in happy, heavy breaths when his companion's smoke thickened again as he calmed.

 _'He thinks himself superior because of his skin. A rather stupid ideology if you ask me, since most of what he is lounging in and about was created by his **dreaded** foreigners.'_ His last words sounded like when Petunia talked to Hari; dull and as if he thought the words themselves were rather stupid. His smoke was still agitated, but not so much as before.

 _'So he uses those words like you use Muggle?'_ Hari asked. It seemed like a valid comparison—his companion's tone sounded just like Vernon's when he used those words.

His companion grew very still, as if contemplating. He began various audacious sentences that started with things such as _'Well,' 'I—','No,' 'You're only a child so,'_ but finally settled with an answer after a few sullen minutes.

 _'Yes. I suppose he does, and I suppose I do.'_ And then he was quiet for very long moments. They decided to share the silence together. Until Hari had more questions.

 _'You said you're here 'cause we merged?'_

 _'Yes.'_

 _'What does that mean?'_

 _'Your magic allowed me to...use my magic in your body. Our magics are not compatible, which is why the process is not easy and, regrettably, painful. Over time our magics should become more similar and this should cease to be a problem. I could access my magic at will, and perhaps, so could you.'_

 _'So your colour will become green instead of red?'_

 _'My magic is— **red**?'_ This seemed to surprise his companion, as he was silent for several moments even with mental proddings from Hari.

 _'Yes—is that bad?'_

 _'No. Simply...interesting. It use to be black.'_ The smoke hummed around him and seemed to _glow_ , then it seemed to erupt in _reverse_ as if trying to look at itself. Sure enough, under the rusted-dust colour of his companion were bright, lightning-like streaks of deep red that crackled noiselessly through him.

 _'How fascinating…'_

Hari felt what he could only describe as a snake tongue flicking out around and through the cloud. This greatly confused him, but it gave him an image that made him laugh.

He imagined his companion as a great big snake—brown and green all over with a black belly. Oh how badly it would scare Mrs. Petunia!

As soon as he thought it and began to giggle, he noticed that the smoke was lessening. It seemed to be disappearing into nowhere, and Hari felt himself become very scared.

Before his eyes a great snake began to appear on the—floor?—in front of his feet. It didn't look like how he imagined it, per se; more like the snakes he stole glimpses of on the telly in South America that hissed about how ugly the camera people were. But instead of shades of brown and greens, this snake was deep reds and shadowy blacks. It did have a black belly, so Hari had to give it some credit.

 _'Um, hello,'_ greeted Hari. He was admittedly scared without his companion, but the snakes in the garden seemed nice enough so maybe this one was too?

The snake seemed amazed. It's grey-blue eyes were nearly twice the size they were supposed to be, open in shock. It gave an experimental wiggle and shot out it's tongue a few times. Then, it hissed in absolute pleasure.

 _'I haven't had a body in years.'_

Hari was bewildered by the voice that emanated from the snake. It sounded just like—

 _'You're my companion!?'_

 _'Your **companion**? Now where did you learn a word like that?'_ The snake seemed to laugh at him, if the short, syllabic hisses were anything to go by.

Hari suddenly seemed very shy of himself.

 _'The telly…'_ he tried.

The snake seemed to relent and slithered up to him. It took a few moments before it was able to figure out how to 'stand' alongside Hari and drape itself across his shoulders.

 _'I am indeed your...companion,'_ It— _he_ seemed amused by Hari, so greatly so that he gave a small jerk of his body as he laughed and flicked his tongue against the boy's face.

 _'Well that—that's good then. It's good then.'_ Hari paused for a moment. _'You said you didn't have a body before, but you do now, why?'_

 _'I am because you wish it. Your magic allowed me to form. You wished it, and so it happened, as I am a part of you now.'_ He thought for a bit before continuing, _'If your magic had tried to force me into a body that was incompatible, it would have been painful for the both of us. In a sense, I am because you wish it and because it can be.'_

 _'So...if I had tried to make you something else it wouldn't have worked?'_ It was hard to form the questions he was trying to ask, but he knew imagining his companion as anything other than a snake seemed wrong.

 _'Most likely, yes. In our world, Magia are able to shift into our animal counterparts, known as our Animagus. It is a combination name of Animal and Magia, as we are our animal selves, yet we keep our minds and for some, our abilities. A snake was my chosen Animagi, therefore we were extremely fortunate.'_

 _'Mageea?'_

 _'Magia. It is the collective term for witches, wizards, and other sorts of sorcerers. Magic people.'_

 _'And they can all turn into animals?'_ Hari became very excited; if he could turn into an animal maybe he could get more food!

 _'No. It takes dedicated Magia with a strong magical core. It takes many years to become one, after the years of finding out if you even can. One must have the basics of several magical subjects, at the very least._

Hari felt his hope deflate and pop like a balloon Dudley had discarded. He dared himself to pick up the pieces and ask one more question:

 _'Would you teach me?'_

The snake around his shoulders coiled around him and curled to face him directly.

 _'Teach you what?'_

 _'Everything.'_

The snake gave a hissing laugh and nodded. Hari yawned into his hand and smiled at him. His companion was the last thing he saw before he drifted off into unconsciousness.

* * *

Random Note: a little over 4K

The whole "dreaded foreigners" thing is supposed to be sarcastic, and that's how I imagine the description of sarcasm.

Original spells:

 _Therapavo_ —Heals broken bones, but not usually used due to the magical backlash it can cause. Must be cast by the person _with_ the injuries.

 _Straiga_ —locks doors. Opposite of _Alohomora_.


	3. Chapter 3

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains racism, misogyny, somewhat graphic descriptions of child abuse, and very slight implications of suicidal ideology. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

 _:parseltongue: 'mental conversation/thoughts'_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

* * *

Cross Your Fingers

(Or rather, Broken Promises)

Hari's companion held true to his word. He did, in a sense, attempt to teach Hari _everything_.

Companion had been teaching Hari many things other than magic. He had taught Hari how to tell time on the clock in the living room, how to count and do basic math, and even _read_.

Reading was something Hari treasured almost as much as magic. He had been working on merging his and companion's magic _(which was now a very deep marooning purple that continued to fascinate him)_ and Companion could show him books. He could only show a few pages at a time with the rate that Hari read, as keeping up such a complex image tired him out quicker.

Though the merging process was having a reverse effect, according to Companion, it seemed to be more desirable as his energy levels raised faster. His mental snake body grew bigger as he grew stronger, and he could keep up more complicated images _(like books for Hari)_ in Hari's mind's eye.

He had also taught Hari something very important besides the bare essential educations. So personal, and so very happy, that Hari had believed someone like himself wasn't allowed to have.

Companion had taught Hari his birthday.

It was currently _December_ of _1985_ , but Hari's birthday was in _July_. He had turned five years old, celebrated in his cupboard with the spiders and his companion, who decided to give Hari the gift of books.

It was the kindest thing Companion had ever done for him—it was the kindest thing anyone had done for him—and because of it, Hari treasured reading almost as much as he treasured magic _(after all, if he didn't have magic then he wouldn't have his companion)_.

Besides his lessons, they had been practicing magic for months now. Hari could make things float and duplicate items long enough to ward off suspicion of him stealing them. He had learned to wait until the dead of night to steal food now, and never risked it in the morning.

He still ravaged the scraps of Dudley's food that Petunia would pass on to him after he had left for school; it usually consisted of mushy, dissolving cereal in milk that Hari was half sure Dudley spit in just for the heck of it, or the burnt or undercooked pieces of eggs and bacon they would feed him in the hopes he would get sick. It made him want to vomit, but he knew he couldn't stay alive with his night-nicking. He couldn't hoard food without being caught. He had tried, and the result was being beaten so badly he passed out.

His companion had refused to heal him. Rather, he had walked Hari through the process of stopping internal bleeding and repairing organs Hari didn't know the name of, but did take away pain when Hari healed the bones himself. Since then, Hari had not tried to hoard food, and only snuck out when he was so hungry he felt nauseated.

Food was his lifeline, but magic was his _salvation_. He could purify the contents in his stomach, repair and thicken his rag and clothes, and stave off dehydration and starvation for far longer than he suspected would of killed other children. He thanked whatever was out there constantly for giving him magic, much to his companion's approval.

He would be locked in the cupboard all day today, since the baby was coming. It was his fault, after all. Petunia had been so worked up learning that he had been stealing her food that all of the sudden there was a massive wet spot on the carpet under her legs as she was screaming at him.

She had braced herself against the archway across from the cupboard, screaming at Vernon and cursing the day Hari was born. She had glared at Hari and threatened that if anything happened to their baby that she would kill him. Hari believed her.

And so he sat in his cupboard hugging his too-small knees to his chest, rocking back and force, crying silently.

His companion tried to soothe him, telling him to _'slip back into your mind,'_ whatever that meant, but Hari just brushed him off and imagined that he had killed someone and it was all his fault. He cried harder thinking about an innocent baby that could have grown up to love him, just maybe.

He sat that way for hours, not allowing himself the release of sleep. He wanted to punish himself—he _deserved_ it. He could hear the dying roar of the engine pulling into the garage. It was either his saving grace or the warrant of his death.

He heard the thundering steps of Dudley, squalling because _he didn't want a sister!_ Hari felt tears run down his face that he thought had long dried out. He was _saved_! For today, at the very least.

He listened fervently for any information he could, pressing his face against the door of his room. He could feel the unfinished wood digging into the skin of his face, most likely leaving splinters, but he didn't care. All that mattered to him was that _Eunice Nicole Dursley_ was born on _December eighteenth_ and she was _okay_.

Dudley was complaining about his mother being in the hospital with _Eunice_ this close to Christmas and Vernon was trying to soothe him with promises of more presents. Hari had use to pretend that maybe _he_ would get a Christmas present if he was extra, extra good, and today he thought that maybe, _just maybe_ , Eunice was his Christmas present.

Apparently Petunia wouldn't be able to come home until the end of the week as the doctors wanted to make sure she and the baby were okay. Hari was very cautious taking this in. It could be very good, or very bad spending a whole week with a _Ms. Figg_.

Vernon would be taking Dudley and staying in the _King's Ivory_ Hotel, one of the many that Vernon's company apparently owned. He was pacifying his son with promises of endless movies and something called _room service_ while Hari switched between daydreaming and a day-mare of what a _Ms. Figg_ would be like.

He had heard from the gossip circles that qualified as Mrs. Petunia's _Book Club_ on _Wednesday_ , Companion taught him, that Ms. Figg bred very _ugly_ cats for very high prices. She was one of the only _non-white_ people who dared to live in Privet Drive, and the only one in general who took up such an odd pastime of breeding _half-pure_ animals and trying to sell them.

Hari had seen one of these cats before, on the rare occasion he use to be let outside. One of them had been sitting on the cornerstone of the fence while he had been precariously weeding the garden. It had a squished face with ears longer than its head, and wide, round eyes that stared at him. It was covered in bright orange fur that seemed too long for its small body and gathered at its ears, chin, and long, fat tail.

Hari didn't think it was ugly. On the contrary, he thought it was _fascinating_. The way that the golden eyes followed his movements and the fluffy tail swished back and forth—even the way it opened its smushed mouth to yawn and yowl at him. When Hari's green eyes met golden ones, he felt _familiarity_ , as if he _knew_ this animal.

It didn't last long.

Ms. Petunia had gone outside to check on Hari and spotted the creature, screeching words that Hari's companion called _obscenities_. She had thrown gardening tools at the poor animal before digging her nails into his arm and wrenching him back inside. It was the last time he had ever been allowed outside the house in what he now knew to be six months.

Ms. Petunia had made a riot of it the next Book Club meeting, garnering all sorts of sympathy from her upper-suburban companions. They had all screeched at how they should make a _petition_ to kick out Ms. Figg, and perhaps the others like her.

While he detested any sort of Ms. Petunia's friends, he couldn't help but wonder what a _Ms. Figg_ might be like, since the other Ms. Petunias seemed to frown down upon her so very much.

He would get his answer very soon, he learned, as he was dragged out of his cupboard the next day. Vernon had forced him into some better looking clothes Dudley had grown too big for and made sure no bruises were visible before sending him with a bag to walk himself down the street.

He was barely told the number _(Number Eight of Wisteria Walk)_ before he was nearly hit by Mr. Dursley pulling out of the driveway

* * *

Ms. Figg was an odd sort of woman, Hari decided. She was dark skinned and still had dark hair despite her old age, and her _r_ 's rolled together like music when she spoke. She had introduced herself as _Ms. Arabella Figgueroa_ , but had laughed off his horrible, mangled mispronunciation and told him that he should call her Ms. Figg.

Ms. Figg did indeed own many cats. She had two males; named _Mr. Tibbles_ and _Mr. Paws_ , and two females; _Snowy_ and _Tufty_. Hari didn't understand why his companion found this so funny.

Tufty had just had a litter of seven kittens, apparently fathered by the silver-coloured Mr. Paws. Snowy was currently pregnant by Mr. Tibbles, and Ms. Figg was hoping she had at least six.

They all looked rather strange—much like Mr. Tibbles _(the cat Hari later learned had been peeping on him)_. All having mostly normal squashed, cat-like features, but some sort of _aura_ that was strange about them. Hari decided cats were okay, but he may not much like them.

Ms. Figg's house was decorated in bright tiles and tightly hand-woven rugs she claimed had been passed down from her ancestors. She had immediately sat Hari down on the green couch sporting a heavily pregnant, non-much-too friendly Snowy, and whipped him up _just a cuppa dear!_

'Just a cuppa' ended up being two kettles full-as many as Ms. Figg could stuff down Hari before he implored she stopped before his tummy burst. Ms. Figg decided to move on to biscuits next.

She introduced Hari to her favourite shows on the telly, which Hari cautiously watched with her. Her favourites seemed to be hopeless romantic soap operas that had Companion begging for Hari to murder him, or dating games that had Companion offering to murder _her_.

She also introduced Hari to needlepoint, knitting, and crocheting. Hari's small, nimble fingers made easy work of the yarn, but he couldn't admit to not seeing the point or to forgetting which way was a pearl and which was was a stitch, or which way to _properly_ tie a knot of thread _(which Hari found rather silly)_.

It was three days into his visit that Hari committed an act of _nonsense_.

He had tripped over a lump in one of Ms. Figg's decorative rugs and dropped a porcelain teacup. In his panic to avoid punishment, he hissed a small _":Repairo:,"_ and watched the cup tumble back together. He watched the cup tumble back together two seconds too-late after noticing Ms. Figg in the doorway of the kitchen.

Tears began to pool in scared eyes as he begged over and over not to let the Dursleys know, that he would take anything, any sort of punishment Ms. Figg wanted to give him. He promised her that she could hit him as much as she liked, he wouldn't tell, just as long as she kept his secret.

How very shocking it was for Hari when at the end of his whispered pleadings Ms. Figg's dark eyes mirrored his own. Hari could see the years of her age physically pile up on her as she gazed at him, silent streaks running down from her eyes past the neckline of her blouse. She did nothing to stop them.

She dropped to her knees with a great **_crack!_** against the spanish tile in her house, so quickly and so hard that Hari feared her knees had snapped. She began apologizing to _him_ , of all people, begging for his forgiveness for not seeing the signs, for not doing something earlier.

She outstretched her arms to him and Hari feared he would be punished, before chilling maroon magic pushed hundreds upon hundreds of memories into his head. Memories of himself being held in almost such a way by a redheaded woman and a man who looked like him, of being in a warm tummy with hands caressing outside him whispering words of endearments, of being kissed on the head by the humming woman from his dreams who cried and whispered _Goodbye_.

He flung himself into her arms and allowed himself to be hugged for the first time in a long time, with hushed promises of _safety_ and a better life and someone named _Dumbledore_ coming to fix it over the top of his head.

Hari decided he would miss Ms. Figg rather terribly at the end of the week. And he did.

* * *

When Hari first met Eunice he was completely _mesmerized_. She had soft brown tufts on her too-small looking head and big blue eyes that would shine when she saw him. Hari fell in love instantly. He wanted her as _his_ sister. He would protect her, and care for her, and love her, unlike _Dudley_. And strangely...Ms. Petunia.

After being brought home from the hospital, Petunia wanted nothing to do with the small child. Petunia wouldn't hold her, barely fed her, and screamed incessantly when Eunice cried.

And so, like many more things, the task of caring for Eunice fell to Hari. Hari couldn't help but feel excited. He would cradle her when she was fussy, and hum the song from his dreams, and read to her the books his companion shared, and even make bright spots of light out of nothing to make her giggle when she became especially upset. He became the one designated to feed her, change her, clothe her, bathe her, and put her to sleep.

Dudley couldn't do it, for he was only a boy.

Vernon couldn't do it, since that was _women's work_.

Petunia couldn't do it, since she refused to hardly look in the child's direction, let alone care for her.

So Hari became her big brother. And Hari loved it, and Hari loved her, and Hari was loved by her.

Hari was the one who taught her to smile, to roll over along the floor _(when Petunia would allow it)_ , and to begin babbling. He was also the one who began to hush her cries when Mrs. Petunia was screaming, or when Eunice witnessed Vernon or Dudley punishing him, soothing her with quite instructions of _"you need to cry quietly, please, Eunice, please!"_

And it was so that when Mrs. Petunia decided to take Eunice away from him, Hari decided to say _no_.

 _No_. She didn't _get_ to abandon Eunice for months on end, hating her very existence for not being back inside her belly, and then claim her back, simply because she hated Hari. _No._ She didn't _get_ to pretend to love Eunice, only to leave her squalling at night, starving, like she had the weeks before she was assigned to Hari. _No_. She simply didn't _get_ to decide to give Hari the most precious thing he had had in his life and then _rip it away from him_.

When Ms. Petunia's decision was announced, Hari _rebelled_. He rebelled for the first time in his small life, for the most precious thing he currently had.

He reached out to the roots of his magic and felt for the darkest, hottest parts of it. The parts that could burn you alive or freeze you to death. Glass had rattled and exploded, leaving Ms. Petunia's fine china in teeny tiny shards across the floor. Wood furniture cracked, granite broke, the wind practically _screamed_.

When Mr. Dursley had reached out for him by his hair, his arm was twisted back in the wrong direction. Sickening _popping_ noises teased their way through the room over the howling of the gathering storm outside as Vernon's arm continued to warp past its limit, drawing high pitched shrieks from all Hari's audience.

He was prepared to continue, to _rip it off_ if he had too, until Petunia gained a calm look on her face and placed her hand over Eunice's face.

The wind hushed.

The furniture halted.

Hari didn't even breathe.

"Fix it, or you'll be responsible for what happens next." Ms. Petunia said, her bony fingers curling around the babe's delicate neck.

Vernon's arm was forcibly ripped back into place.

China repaired itself faster than it had broken.

Hari counted all the ways he could think of to kill himself.

Petunia uncurled her hands from around the baby and set her on the table, seemingly oblivious to Eunice's terrified cries. Hari felt a gut wrenching guilt he had caused such a reaction from her. He had only wanted to protect her, and instead had terrified her.

"You will no longer have direct contact with my child until she can learn how to put you _in your place_. You have _lost_ the privileges of breakfast, and your meals are to be held whenever _we_ see fit."

Hari sucked in a small breath. This meant no more guaranteed food. Which meant more necessary stealing. Which meant more risks of getting caught.

He nodded submissively, refusing the tears that wanted to fall past his eyelashes and leave hot trails down his cheeks.

Hari had loved, had been loved, and now Hari had _lost_.

* * *

Random Notes: A bit over 3K.

Age Guide:

Dudley was born June 23, 1978

Hari was born July 31, 1980

Eunice was born December 18, 1985


	4. Chapter 4

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains racism and somewhat graphic descriptions of child abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

 _:parseltongue: 'mental conversation/thoughts'_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

Abuse scenes are based off of the _A Child Called It_ series and various episodes of _Law and Order: SVU_

* * *

Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air

(Or rather, An Introduction to the Elements)

When July came around, and Hari turned six, Companion bestowed a new gift upon him. Companion taught him how to _change_ things. Hari could now _transfigure_ useless objects he learned to hoard into _books_. Obviously he didn't need to hoard more than one or two things, as he could change them back and forth as he pleased _(or rather, when there was danger of him being discovered)_ , but Hari liked to pretend that each item was its own book.

The piece of tinfoil from his first rice pudding cup was a Potion's theory book, written in strange squiggles that Hari could read just as easy as english. The broken soldier man Dudley had thrown at him _(accusing Hari of breaking it)_ was a book of magical history. Strips of an old, unusable, extra-ratty dishrag became _Transfiguration for Beginners, Introduction to Alchemy,_ and _Alchemy vs. Transfiguration_.

He couldn't practice, let alone begin to imagine successfully attempting most of the theories and _spells_ in his books. Most of them made no sense, and his Companion had to slither about and explain them in easier contexts.

Much like both his knowledge and his collection, Hari's companion had been growing too.

What had started out as a great snake nearly the length of Hari in dark red, was now over twice that length in shades of deep purple, borderline _indigo_. His eyes remained the same grey-blue from their first meeting, yet his personality had shifted just as much as his magic.

Instead of biting sarcasm or offended rants, Companion tended to attempt to explain the theories, their purposes, and in what ways they could possibly be necessary. Instead of long-winded _(and mostly terrifying)_ tirades about how he would be _most enjoyed_ to murder Hari's relatives, and exactly how it would go about, there were mainly hushed, hissed words of comfort while Hari was being beaten, a blanket of what felt like heavy river water covering his being.

Make no mistake that there still _were_ rants and tirades of all sorts, and that his companion could pout like nobody's business _(though Hari tried to keep that thought to himself)_. But Companion was _trying_ , and that was what mattered most to Hari.

 _'Hari…'_ Hari felt pressure against the front of his head, much like how Ms. Figg's cats butt their heads against everything.

 _'Speaking of the devil.'_ Hari teased. He knew that his companion enjoyed nicknames like this.

 _'You're getting weaker.'_ He hissed.

Hari had foregone the idea of magically duplicating food that would disappear hours later, after almost getting caught twice.

The first time Hari had nearly been caught, it was only by Dudley. Hari hadn't worried much since the worst the Dursleys would do was to give Dudley a light punishment for _imagining things_ and then punish Hari for the possibility of it being true. But Dudley didn't notice when one of his seven fruit cups had suddenly _disappeared_. He seemed a bit confused as he reached for more and there was none, but shrugged it off and merely went back to the fridge.

So Hari continued.

Then Mr. Vernon nearly caught him. He had been pilfering Ms. Petunia's baking graham crackers when suddenly one of the packages was _open and half missing_. Once that Vernon was sure he hadn't touched it yet, Vernon came to the conclusion that Hari must have nicked some food while Vernon hadn't been looking.

Hari had been cleaning the floors of the kitchen while Vernon was watching some sort of sport on the telly when suddenly he was ripped up by his hair and shoved into the bucket of dirty water. He struggled and fought, his small arms pushing against the flimsy plastic sides of the bucket as sweet, acidic liquid made its way up his nose and down his throat.

He thought that he would die there. For a moment he didn't mind as his vision spotted and his lungs seemed to burn. Then he was let up and all he could do was cough and wheeze, alternating between asphyxiating on the water spilling from his mouth and gulping down air.

It didn't last long.

The sponge he was using to clean was shoved in his mouth, the sharp chemical-filled water leaving stinging trails down his chin and neck. When Hari finally choked down the water from the sponge, swallowing the bits that his teeth ripped off, it was torn from his mouth.

When he was thrown onto the floor he braced himself against the floor, expelling rust coloured water from his stomach. His arms were shaking and his face was covered in vomit and tears leaked from his face. Hari thought it was over.

He was wrong.

He was once again pulled up by his hair, flung backwards onto his back. He watched Vernon lumber over him, his sleeves rolled up and his face purpling. His arms were soaked and his eyes glint when he forced the brown sponge back into Hari's mouth.

Hari tried to keep his mouth closed, holding his breath, until Vernon forced Hari's head back and squeezed the chemical-filled liquid into his nose. Violent, choking coughs wracked the small boy as Vernon forced the cleaning product back in Hari's mouth.

Over and over again He was forced to swallow the mop water, until the bucket was nearing empty and he was simply strewn to-and-fro in his own sick due to the amount.

He was saved by the least likely source— _Ms. Petunia_. Petunia had come in, holding an irate Eunice in what seemed be a too-tight tutu dress. She took one look at Vernon over Hari and _shrieked_.

"What are you doing to the _floors_ , Vernon! We're having _guests_!"

She had been more concerned over the repulsive smell emanating from the Kitchen and whether or not it would stain rather than the potential body count her floor would soon gain.

So Hari had been left alone in his mess, instructed to clean it up before the guests arrived in an hour.

He had barely accomplished it, vomiting more than he was cleaning. On shaky arms and numb legs he finished his task, before passing out outside his cupboard.

He had been punished again later when Petunia had to stall so Vernon could shove him in.

Since then, Hari had _not_ tried to duplicate food. Instead, he took to digging through scraps. He would pick off pieces of food left in pots and pans before he cleaned them, or after he was done cooking, dig through the garbage a few hours after meals when he learned it was safe, and even leave out food to spoil a bit to be thrown out.

He had not yet been discovered, and was becoming better with _persuasion_ magic to make sure he wouldn't be.

He couldn't force someone to stay in a room, or make decisions they wouldn't normally, or choose actions that went against their personality; but he could cause distractions. A wondering about favourite tv shows on, even if they knew it wouldn't be, a _push_ in the direction of needing to use the restroom, buying Hari a bit of time, or even something as simple as yawning or stretching to warn if how close someone was.

 _'You haven't eaten in days.'_

Hari was currently being punished for burning _just_ too much of Vernon's eggs. Petunia had decided that Hari's punishment would be to stay locked in his cupboard for an indeterminable amount of time.

He hadn't been let out to clean, eat, or use the restroom _(Companion had to teach a rather mortified Hari a banishing spell when he finally couldn't hold it anymore)_.

It had been almost a week and Hari was feeling nauseous. He was too fearful of sneaking out since Eunice cried all hours of the night and kept up Ms. Petunia, but his chance was coming. It was _Sunday_ and the Dursleys would be leaving.

He waited until he could no longer hear the roar of the engine in the driveway and slid his fingers along the crack of his door.

 _":Alohomora:,"_ He hissed.

He slowly creaked open the door, peering out every direction before stepping out. He slipped quickly into the kitchen, his tiny feet echoing sharp slaps against the wood and tile in the house.

On the island counter there was a large, cooling casserole. His mouth watered at the sight of it. Though his burnt food usually tasted better than what Petunia whipped up, Hari was _so hungry_.

 _'Use an expansion charm. Then force it to stay.'_ His companion whispered.

Hari felt confused. _'What?'_

 _'Take a small slice, or a few. Then expand the dish to cover the gaps.'_

 _'Why didn't you teach me this earlier!?'_ Hari was upset. If he had known how to make food stay then he wouldn't have been punished. He forced himself to calm down—Companion must have a reason.

 _'The food is tasteless and will eventually vanish. When impacted it begins to dissolve. They would have noticed when they couldn't actually eat or their food wouldn't crunch beneath their teeth. If you had expanded your own food, it would have shrunk in your stomach.'_

So he would have been punished anyway...or would of starved to death.

Hari took slivers along the ends of the dish, muttering _Crescere_ to fill the gaps.

 _'How do I make it stay?'_

 _' **Lignum**. It's a temporary sticking charm. Only focus on making the expansion charm stay, else the entire dish will stick to its container.'_

Hari felt a bit silly as he pictured a whole casserole without the dish, but he did as told. He always would for Companion.

The few badly cooked slices of casserole sitting in Hari's cupped hands felt like a feast to him. He savored the feeling of food in his mouth rather than the taste, taking small nibbles and holding his breath when he held it in his mouth.

When he was finished he licked the remnants off of his hands, surprisingly without any comments of how revolting it was to lick his hands from Companion.

He began making his way back to the cupboard when he was stopped by soft scales pressing against his mind.

 _'You should be enjoying yourself.'_

 _'I did. I ate.'_

 _'You used to like the outdoors, why not venture outside?'_ His companion offered.

Hari thought about it. It had been a while...It had been a long while. He missed the feeling of the sun on his face, the grass against his skin, the earth between his toes, the taste of the wind. Even the replicated memories he ventured to as Companion taught him could hardly mimic the real thing.

 _'I believe I will._ ' Hari offered back.

He decided to go out the side door of the garage, careful that no one had seen him. When the Dursleys caught whispers of a _strange brown boy_ in the neighborhood, Hari had been left with what Companion called a _concussion_ and refused to let Hari sleep that night. He had been lectured about being more careful in between the pummelings of fists, making sure that no one knew it was the _Dursleys_ who housed such a freak.

He walked around the neighborhood, taking note of which houses held familiar cars he often saw leaving after Petunia's book club, and which ones looked very similar to the one Mr. Vernon drove to work. He walked all the way through Privet Drive and came to a little corner sign that pointed in three directions. The left was Wisteria Walk, the middle course continued Privet Drive, and the right led to Manzanita Trace.

Hari wanted to go visit Ms. Figg. He hadn't seen her in a while and the pavement was starting to blister his feet. He made a left and began walking to Number Eight.

It was a pretty light-grey brick one story house with dark shingling and white windows and doors. He could see the cream coloured curtains pulled in front of the shutters and imagined Ms. Figg sitting in her green armchair while her kittens took up the sofa. He liked to think perhaps she was making tea, or reading one of her _romance novels_ she forbade him from touching.

He gently rapped on the white door and waited a few moments. He expected to see a Ms. Figg with a book in her hand, or perhaps a teacup, or even one or several of her odd cats to prevent them from escaping.

What he did not expect was to see a worn out, disheveled looking Ms. Figg covered in soot and ash. Her hair was in a disarrayed bun, grey streaks more prominent than ever. Dark purple-black bags hung under her usually brilliant brown eyes that seemed to have lost their warmth, rimmed a bright red that led water stains down her face. Once she realized who was at the door she gave Hari a bright smile, but Hari couldn't help but compare how dull it seemed with the ones she had given him before.

"Hari! Oh, Hari dear. Oh— _darling_ —please come in!"

She ushered him inside with feather-soft touches against his shoulders, something he was very grateful for, and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her blouse. It smeared soot around her face, but Hari thought it would be rather rude to point that out.

She led him to the couch and shooed off a rather affectionate Mr. Tibbles, who seemed to butt at Hari persistently.

"Hari, dear, I'm _so_ sorry," she began to cry, running the tracks of her face wet again. "I—I _tried_ to explain to them, to the Ministry and to Dumbledore, but they simply wouldn't _listen_. I've been trying dear, I _promise_."

She seemed quite upset about something Hari couldn't completely grasp. Hari did the only thing he knew how in order to comfort her—he hugged her. He crawled up onto her lap and stretched his thin arms around her round, soft body and buried his face in her shoulder.

In return she wrapped her long arms around him and cried into the tameless curls of his hair.

"It's alright…" he said slowly. He never spoke unless he was hissing out spells, and his voice was rough from disuse. "You did everything you could."

"I—I offered to take you, I could teach you, but they—they said—they said that you're _safer_ with your aunt and uncle!"

She gave a hysterical laugh and Hari froze.

"My aunt and uncle?"

She sniffled lightly and pulled back from him. Hari looked up at her, curious and open and _so scared_ that her body jerked along with her sobs. Ms. Figg forced composure upon herself.

"They never—they never _told_ you?"

Hari shook his head. Ms. Figg took shaky, deep breaths and began to explain.

"Petunia and Vernon are your aunt and uncle. Dudley and the baby are your cousins. Petunia was _Lily's_ , your mother, sister. When she and your father, _James_ , died you were transferred to their guardianship." Her voice soured at the end, similar to the face she made when she over-boiled tea.

 _Lily_ and _James_. Hari finally had something to hold on to. He had asked his companion several times about his parents, but Companion always went quiet and still and wouldn't speak for the rest of the day. _Lily_ and _James_. Names to the faces he treasured that his companion had pushed forward that one day, to the voices that told Hari _they loved him_.

Ms. Figg seemed to hesitate before steeling herself.

"They...They're the reason you can do what you can do." She gave him a very _deliberate_ look and Hari drew his brows together.

 _'Magic, small one,'_ Companion hissed. Hari was surprised—both because his companion _never_ wanted to talk about Hari's parents and because _his parents could do it too_.

Hari had always had an inkling—after all, with thoughts of _Hogwarts_ running around in his head from his companion Hari knew he wasn't the only one like this. It was both comforting and isolating; he wasn't alone in ability, but he was alone _here_. And yet...his parents could do it too…

"Your mother was a brilliant witch. My son, _Cristiano_ , use to complain about how she beat him out of Astrology and Arithmancy. They were his favourite subjects at Hogwarts. I believed he had quite the crush on her, many people did."

Ms. Figg adopted a sad smile, and stared at the fireplace with a look that Hari didn't like on her face. It was too sad, too painful, and it didn't belong on Ms. Figg's face, whom Hari believed only deserved happiness.

"Hogwarts—that's a school, right?"

She didn't seem perturbed that he knew this, either convinced that he came to a conclusion based on her explanation or having heard of it previously _(though where he would have besides Companion, Hari didn't know, and no one but Hari knew of his companion)_.

"Yes. A school for magical children. There are many of them, I went to one myself when I was younger." She seemed both happy and sad; a word that his companion called _reminiscent_.

"Though I went to _Castelobruxo_ instead of Hogwarts, I sent Cristiano there because of a deal with my husband."

She laughed to herself, though it was a hollow noise. Like the last remnants of an abandoned house lighting up.

 _'Castel Broom shoes?'_ Hari crinkled his nose at the name. And he thought Hogwarts was weird.

 _'No,'_ His companion laughed _, 'Castelobruxo. It's in South America. Hidden in the rain forest.'_ Images of thick flora and exotic fauna filled his mind, large dewdrops gathered as big as Hari's fist in leaves larger than Hari's body. It was beautiful, Hari decided.

"Your father was in _Gryffindor_." Her voice was tight and drawn, echoed by the lines suddenly appearing on her face. "Hogwarts has four houses, you see. Gryffindor is the house of the brave, and there was no better place for James Potter. He became an Auror after school, one of the best there was. He served under _Alastor Moody_ , the best Auror this millennium has ever seen."

Hari latched on eagerly, tears beginning to well in his eyes. He had never heard such things about his parents—especially his father. He felt something for the first time: pride.

"And my—my mother?"

Ms. Figg smiled gratefully at him, the way Hari imagined his mother would have smiled.

"She was in _Hufflepuff_ , the house of the hard-working and true. And _oh_ did she earn her place!" Ms. Figg laughed again, and it was a better sound than the one before. "She made the best grades, and won four awards for the highest of the class at the end of her Seventh Year. She was learning how to become an _Alchemist_ and a _Potions Mistress_."

"I very much believe that if she had—if she had lived," Ms. Figg stumbled and dabbed at her eyes, starting once more. "I very much believe that if she had lived, she would have become the most wonderful Potions Mistress the world has ever seen, at least for a _very_ long time."

Hari began to cry, and Ms. Figg couldn't stop her sniffles that joined him. He had escaped early in the morning and the Dursleys always took till after lunch to return. It was nearing nine-o'clock, and Hari stayed at Ms. Figg's as long as he could.

They spoke of many things in that time, yet Ms. Figg seemed hesitant to talk about Hari's father and placated him with tales of his mother. About how she was the brightest witch of her time and had a tendency to get carried away in letting everyone know. About how James was every teacher's worst nightmare from the minute he stepped off the train. About how Lily's best friends were _Severus Snape_ , _Alice Longbottom_ , and _Marlene McKinnon_ , and how they rivaled his father's group of _Remus Lupin_ , _Sirius Black_ , and _Frank Longbottom_ , but seldom got caught when retaliating against the self-proclaimed "Marauders".

And finally, before Hari left, they spoke of his parents' death. Of James' betrayal in order to try to save his wife, and how he was offering up his son in return for being spared.

And suddenly, Hari wasn't so proud of his father anymore.

Ms. Figg had once told him that sometimes good people made bad decisions to save the people they love. Hari didn't understand why James didn't love him, and asked her quite frankly that very question. Ms. Figg had gone very silent for a long while. And when she spoke, she spoke very quietly.

"No matter what happened that night, it is not _your_ fault."

She assured him that she believed quite furiously that both his parents loved him very much.

Hari didn't believe her. He so _desperately_ wanted to, but how could someone who supposed to love him _leave him_ like that?

When Hari had left it was another tearful had ran as fast as his legs would carry him back to Number Four of Privet Drive, hopelessly praying to whatever was out there that he would make it back before the Dursleys did.

He scraped his callused hands scrambling over the garden wall and twisted his ankle when he fell into the rose bushes down below. Cuts of varying depths and sizes covered his body as he crawled out, forcing himself along the sticker-infested grass and into the doggy-door Vernon had had installed for his sister, Mrs. Nelson.

He was very careful about rubbing up the blood with the rags that served as his shirt. He was deadly sure that he didn't _dare_ leave a single streak of muck or blood. His feet burned and it was making Hari sweat with how much magic he had to use to prevent the blisters on them from bursting until he was safely inside his cupboard.

Once inside he _forced_ his magic to heal him, ignoring the screamed warnings inside his head that he needed words or he could cause more harm. He simply _didn't have time_. As he felt cuts sizzling closed and blisters reversing themselves, which was twice as painful as obtaining them, Hari's magic began to take its toll. He had never used so much at one time, especially not so much _without structure_.

So Hari did the only thing he could do. Hari fainted.

* * *

Hari was locked in his cupboard until _Wednesday_. He could tell by the growling of the other Ms. Petunia's cars that they had borrowed from their husbands and by the clicking of heels against wood accompanied by their wearers' high pitched chitter-chatter.

He cast a _silencing charm_ to surround the inside of the cupboard, mostly due to his companion's complaints. It became a nice time for a nap and Hari blacked out.

He was deposited back into his mindscape; a place Hari still couldn't figure out how to purposely visit. He could even count the amount of times he had been to his mindscape on one hand and still have fingers left over. It still looked like it did the first time; much like a vast, empty _void_.

His companion was in his snake form, as usual. Hari took in his long, thick body that had most definitely grown. The last time Hari had seen him, He was a deep purple that had began turning blue, and just over twice his original length and width with black eye-like patterns.

Now, Companion was a grey sea-blue with wave like patterns that glittered black. He was as thick as both of Hari's arms and legs all put together and had grown at least an extra foot or two.

 _'Hari…'_ his companion greeted.

 _'Companion. You've been quiet lately.'_ Despite his usual rantings over Petunia's book club and the toned down death threats he offered every time they passed the Dursleys, Companion had been eerily silent since Sunday with Ms. Figg.

Companion's tongue flicked out slowly, as if he was contemplating something.

 _'Hari...I need to speak with you.'_ His body curled in around itself, as if he was afraid. It was a strange thing to feel coming from his companion.

 _'Well you'll have to explain what we're doing now if we aren't already speaking,'_ Hari teased.

 _'It's about your father.'_

Hari froze. Companion _never_ willingly spoke of the Potters. Even after Sunday he had been near completely silent, except for the expected tirades that sounded half-hearted even to Hari.

 _'There are things you need to know, but I can only explain so many of them—I can only remember so many of them.'_

Hari felt Companion's _need_ for Hari to understand. Reluctantly, Hari accepted the foreign magic and watched as the mindscape swirled like an animated _Starry Night_.

The transparent floor began to _grow grass_ , peeking out as if through a thick, ashy fog. Hari heard the sound of _waves_ echoing through the expansion, completely entranced as a large lake began to take shape through the blackness.

He could see that instead of a single pane of simply darkness, his void was made up of many layers. Dense, mud-consistent smoke packed together, one layer on top of the other, intermingling and thinning out to a soft, grey mist that became the colour of seafoam as the lake began to emerge. From the grass grew bricks, and the bricks piled together the most _magnificent_ castle he had ever seen! It was several stories tall with hundreds of dark windows and half a dozen visible towers and he just knew that this castle was Hogwarts.

The overhead levels of empty space faded into a cloudy blue sky, with sunshine that Hari could almost feel on his face. He swung his head around to his companion, only to stop when he spotted dozens of masked figures huddled in multiple half-circles.

Every figure wore a black cloak with tapering hoods and bone-white masks. They reminded Hari of those muggles he has seen on the telly, only they wore white and he was vaguely sure they didn't each have decorated masks. Each circle had their own style, and Hari focused on one in the center who was steadily approaching him, the others parting like fog.

Their mask was bone-white as the others, but as they came closer Hari could make out the details decorating it—golden swirls curled around the eye and nostril slits, while the mouth was carved out in a similar fashion to prison bars.

They removed their mask, and Hari was met with a startling older version of himself. Shorter curls stuck around his face, glasses formed from the mist to settle on top of a nose that appeared to have been broken too many times to remain straight, but hazel eyes shone _wrong_. It appeared as if a stranger was staring at him through James' eyes.

 _'I use to be part of a man who calls himself Voldemort._ ' His companion seemed very ashamed of himself, and very lost He curled around Hari's feet and worked his way up till his upper body was draped precariously over Hari's shoulders..

 _'We were—I was— A madman. I can hardly remember what it was like being in his head...Everything felt so fractured and wrong. I could barely tell one day apart from the other, plans began intermingling, thoughts came and went and were forgotten..…'_

 _'But the night I became part of you is clear, Hari. You were supposed to kill me. You and another boy—Neville Longbottom. So I went after you both in the hopes of postponing my death. I both failed and succeeded.'_

Hari stilled, and he felt the snake slip from his shoulders. Absently, he thought he should probably be grateful for the space being provided by his companion, but all he could feel was _terror_. His heart began constricting in his chest, his breath catching as if Vernon's hand was wrapped around his throat.

 _'My body was destroyed and I was put inside you, but that matters little at the moment.'_ Companion curled himself into a tight knot and laid his head on his body, mimicking a dog rolled onto its stomach. _'These are the Deatheaters. They were—are—Voldemort's followers, if you will. They…..we raided Saint Mungo's the night the two of you were born. I am unaware of the casualties, I was ripped away the moment I—'_

He cut himself off, his voice clinical and cold and rushed to get everything seemed to curl impossibly tighter around himself before he spoke again, this time his voice very small, _'I—I am sorry. I cannot begin to imagine any apology that would convey how much I regret my actions. Nor have I yet decided which is the more fitting of punishments—to be unembodied, trapped incorporeally inside one of thousands of victims, or to gain back my mind, only to have the weight of my sins continue to rip apart the edges of my sanity. I—'_

He cut himself off once more, his voice growing heavy. Hari didn't think snakes could cry, but he didn't have any other name for the stilted, wet sounds coming from his Companion. felt conflicted…..This was the man who took his parents from him, who forced him with the Dursleys, the reason for _everything_ …..

But it _wasn't_. It was only a _piece_ of him, whatever that meant, and this piece certainly didn't seem the type to knowingly ruin Hari's life...Mad men didn't cry after all, did they?

And his companion certainly didn't have a say in Hari's choice of residence, and certainly didn't have a say in the way the Dursleys treated him. In fact, he had healed and taught Hari, going as far as to _protect_ Hari when the punishments were too severe.

Hari made up his mind.

He knelt down, reaching out to pull the parts of the gargantuan snake that he could fit onto his lap. Companion seemed to simultaneously recoil from the touch and wrap himself around Hari, seeking more. He choked out stilted apologies with words Hari didn't understand, but accepted quietly anyway, each one loosening the death grip inside his chest.

 _'It seem—It seems that the on-only comfort I may offer you,'_ He stopped, and took a deep, hissing breath, _'It seems that the only comfort I may offer you is that I can assure you I no longer consider myself Voldemort, let alone a piece of him.'_ Each word was slow and deliberate, and Hari stroked down his Companion's spine in a small attempt of affection.

They stayed there for long moments before his Companion raised his head from his many coils to speak again, but all Hari knew was pain as he was physically ripped from his mindscape.

* * *

One of the Ms. Petunias, a _Mrs. Blanton_ , had seen Hari running back from the cross-sign and into the Dursleys yard. She had explained that she had seen this once before, a few months ago, and was frankly surprised that Petunia and Vernon could house such a thing.

She had told her story in the middle of book club, in front of one _Mrs. Hinz_ , a schoolteacher at the elementary. Several of the others confirmed either story, through first or second or millionth hand knowledge, which proposed a question about _why wasn't he in school?_ from _Mrs. Hinz_.

Petunia had to play her cards very carefully, explaining that Hari was born later in the year and therefore was expected to start in _September_ with the other children. After all, they had only been housing him _a few months_.

So when Hari received the news that he would be going to _school_ in a few months by a smiling Ms. Petunia, he believed he was about to die. She told him that since he was a _schoolboy_ now that he needed to be clean, and ushered him into the bathroom. He had been very confused as Ms. Petunia ordered him to strip and lay in the tub, until he placed his foot inside and it immediately went numb at the cold.

This was a new _game_.

He had snatched his foot out of the water almost as fast as Petunia backhanded him into the towel rack. She pulled him up by his hair and told him that he would either _get in_ and _stay in_ until Petunia came and fetched him, or she would drown him.

Hari forced himself into the water, even as every cell in his being _screamed_ at him for doing so.

Ms. Petunia instructed him to lay in the water with his face lowered, or she would push it in. When Hari lowered his head till the water was brushing his cheeks, she had decided it wasn't fast enough and placed her long, thin hand over his face and pushed him _down_.

Ice-water invaded his lungs and his numb limbs could barely put up a fight. The only thing he could do was cough and cause _more_ water to invade his nose. When she finally let him up she kept her hand placed threateningly on his face, whispering very close to him,

"If you move a muscle, or so much as _tilt_ your head, I'll call Marjorie and allow her _mutt_ to do whatever it wants to you."

She removed her hand and watched expectantly. Hari quickly sunk his head back underwater, careful to keep his nose _just_ above enough the he could catch tiny breaths. Petunia huffed and slunk out the door, purposefully leaving it open.

Hari didn't know how long he was in there, only that it was long enough for his body to begin automatically shivering and long enough for it to stop.

Hari had tried to reach out to his companion, only to feel an _emptiness_ where he once was.

The lack of the mental presence was more horrifying to Hari than his current situation. He didn't know what he would do without his companion. After all, he'd been there even before Hari could remember.

When Hari began to question if you could cry underwater, Petunia came in and twisted her fingers into Hari's hair and violently jerked him up. She lifted him so high that when she let go he felt a _crack_ against his pelvis hitting the bottom of the bathtub. She pulled out an aluminum scrubber and an old bar of used soap before beginning to scrub him raw.

In some places she would simply leave it red, puffy, and heavily irritated. In others she didn't stop scrubbing until blood began dripping into the bathwater.

When he was finished with his _bath_ Petunia told him that they were now being forced to buy him school supplies, and that Hari now _owed them_. In no uncertain terms did she make clear that Hari was ordered to do anything in order to pay them back. She didn't care about how he did it or what he did, and even less about what happened to him, as long as the debt was paid off in the end.

Then she had thrown an old shirt of Dudley's that had been dried too many times at him along with what he thought _use_ to be pants but had been cut.

Then she had thrown him in his cupboard after he finished dressing.

Hari felt the weight of loneliness beginning to consume him. Without his companion he would have no one to turn to, no one to help him, no one who cared for him like his companion did.

He just wanted his friend back.

Silvery slick tears made their way down from his eyes and past his nose, over his cheek and onto the floor as he thought about a life without that sort of magic. He would give it up if he could have the voice back—he would take a dozen punishments all in a row.

 _'You're—ridiculous,'_ a voice whispered. It sounded older and more tired than his companion ever had, but Hari couldn't care less.

' _Worrying over something like me...when you're practically freezing to death.'_

 _'Where were you? What happened?'_ Hari asked fervently.

 _'You were awoken from your mindscape...A very dangerous thing to pull someone out of...especially someone untrained.'_ His companion took several heaving breaths, and Hari hugged himself tight when he felt sluggish scales graze against him.

Hari suddenly felt very awkward. When they had left off, his companion had been crying on him.

 _'So...you use to be this Voldemort guy?'_

 _'Yes.'_

 _'But you aren't anymore? You're like...your own guy?'_

 _'...In lack of better phrasing—yes.'_

 _'But you're still a part of me?'_

 _'Yes. As I always will be.'_

Hari felt a sort of muted elation—his companion would _always_ be with him! He would never leave, never abandon Hari; he would live as Hari lived. Though now, Hari understood exactly how his companion had come to be. Despite his own sore excitement, he could feel sleep tugging at him as his magic worked to repair both himself and Companion.

 _'If you're your own person...then who are you?'_

 _'I...do not know. I am no one, I suppose.'_

Hari didn't think that sounded very nice.

 _'Well, what was your name **before** you were Voldemort?'_

His companion seemed to hesitate, as if he was once again _afraid_.

 _'My name was Tom.'_

 _'It's nice to meet you, Tom.'_

 _'It's...It's nice to meet you too, Hari.'_

Hari smiled and allowed sleep to claim him.

* * *

Random Note: A bit over 6.5K

I tend to italicize too much, insert way too many commas, and not give a damn about doing either.

Original Spells:

 _Crescere_ —An expansion charm. Instead of being similar to the _Engorgio_ charm _(which **enlarges** the object in question)_, this charm simple 'stretches' it.

 _Lignum_ —A temporary sticking charm that can be easily dislocated by mild impact _(A/N: biting, hitting, or repeated impacts such as cutting)_. Will eventually dissolve on its own.


	5. Chapter 5

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains racism and somewhat graphic descriptions of child abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

 _:parseltongue: 'mental conversation/thoughts'_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

Abuse scenes are based off of the _A Child Called It_ series and various episodes of _Law and Order: SVU_

* * *

Three Strikes

(Or rather, _"You're Out"_ )

As promised, Hari began school in September. He attended _West Bridge Elementary_ along with his now-known-to-be cousin Dudley, who was a year ahead of him in Year 3.

When questioned about where he went to Kindergarten, Hari had corrected him that he wasn't smart enough to go to Kindergarten, and that it was only for good boys like _Dudley_. His first teacher, Ms. Priskit, was horrified at the prospect of his _parents_ instilling such ideas in him and praised the Dursleys for taking him under their wing, while his second teacher Ms. Trinsing laughed off his explanation as if he had told a silly joke.

And true to her word, Ms. Petunia did keep up with all the receipts of everything she bought him, adding in variables such as _having to be seen with him_ and _driving him around in their nice car_. Even when she threw in the cheapest items that were most likely to break, she treated everything as if the mere prospect of spending money on him was causing her physical pain.

So when he began classes on September first, Hari knew he was woefully unprepared. Each child had _several_ notebooks; Hari only had one. Many of the children had dozens upon dozens of brightly coloured pencils packed into plastic boxes; Hari only had a small ten-pack to last him through the year. Some children brought extra things, like sharpeners or erasers or crayons; Hari wore clothes that almost fit.

His first year had been _dreadful_. Every child wanting to know _where_ he came from and _why_ they hadn't seen him before and _why_ was his skin different than their own? With a strong odor he couldn't help, dark skin instead of light, and clothes that were riddled with holes and too large on him—Hari was immediately an outcast.

No child wanted to be caught _dead_ around Hari, which was something that pleased his cousin Dudley. Dudley took full advantage of the situation, and had beaten Hari into the wood chips of the playground. Hari had curled up and took it, and several children responded _positively_ to his punishment.

When Dudley had been pulled off by a flustered Ms. Priskit, he forced large tears into his eyes and whined that Hari was making fun of his family. Hari glanced at other children, hoping for a rescue, but knew his fate at school was sealed when several of them nodded along with Dudley's story.

Since Dudley began to have the upper hand outside, Hari decided to have the upper hand _inside_. When being taught the letter system of grading he _knew_ he could do better than the C's that Dudley came home with, that had small red pennings of _try better next time!_ next to a smiley face.

Hari took the advantage of intelligence. He absorbed everything he could, marking his works in painfully neat handwriting that made his fingers cramp something awful. He would converse with his companion—with _Tom_ —during storytime and recess _(as he had taken to hiding inside)_ , begging for him to teach Hari more about the simplistic things he was learning now.

So Tom complied.

Tom filled Hari with his magic and released knowledge over _everything_ to do with these subjects. He let, and _forced_ , his gift to be accepted into Hari's memory to mingle and become Hari's own. It caused Hari to black out the night they did it and arrive to school late for his second class, and for Tom to go _missing_ for nearly two days.

But Hari was grateful. He knew he wouldn't get as far with his maths and language arts that he knew he _could_ for a very long while. He also understood that Tom couldn't have a repeat performance for a long time, nor did he encourage such a _big_ , forceful merging at one time. He explained that having too much at one time would eventually break Hari's mind. He wouldn't be able to sort facts from opinions, then memory from dreams, and then thoughts from actions. Hari would be lost in a reality all his own as his brain tried to force the _foreign entity_ out of itself.

And so, Hari excelled at his schoolwork. His writing became neater the more he did it and hurt his fingers less, and he was always pleasant to his teachers. When his first _report card_ came, he couldn't wait to show it off.

After all, this _must_ prove the Dursleys wrong, correct? He had received all A's with the highest marks in his class, even several stickers next to the smiley-faced _100_ s that littered his work. His companion praised him each time, and Hari could feel Tom expanding himself to fill Hari's mind as much as he could.

It was their version of a hug; at least while they were awake.

So when Hari received his report card with _exemplary_ marks and a large, warm hug from Tom, he knew he couldn't let the Dursleys throw this away. He stuffed it down his pants and held it there with the ratted string that served as his belt. He knew the Dursleys wouldn't ask him about his marks—they never did—and so Hari had no reason to worry.

How very unfortunate when he returned to Number Four of Privet Drive, forty-five minutes later than Dudley as usual, to find Ms. Petunia _smiling_ that _smile_ at him and asking for his report card.

At first Hari tried to pretend that he didn't know what she was talking about, but all that did was earn him gaudy red nails digging into his arm and _assuring_ him that Petunia was _quite positive_ that he received his today.

Dubiously, Hari handed over his card. At the beginning of the day Hari had been proud of himself, but now it was all he could do to keep his body from quivering. Ms. Petunia curled up her nose as he removed it from his waistband, but snatched away as soon as it was a safe distance from his grubby clothes.

When she saw the line of As and the delicately written _an all around exemplary student!_ in the comments section her smile only grew.

"So," she had said. "Not only a _thief_ , but a _cheat_ as well. How _typical_."

She believed he had copied and stolen other students work, passing it off as his own to sympathetic brainless floozies. She screwed his arm back the wrong way, much like he had to Vernon, tugging him up close to her her.

"If I catch you _cheating_ again," She had hissed, "I'll snap your fingers."

She punctuated her point by ripping back the first two fingers of Hari's right hand. They splintered with a sickening _snap_ that had Hari biting through his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming.

He learned that day to fall behind in class. To lie when the teachers asked him what was wrong, or if he was okay, or if he didn't understand. He learned that he had to be sub-par to Dudley, so that the Dursley's unextraordinary son could shine in the household.

It hadn't changed.

He barely scraped by to be thrown into third year as Dudley entered fourth. He was spurred on by watching Eunice begin to sit up on her own and learning to crawl. When she had begun to pull up on objects, watching her made Hari's heart ache terribly. And when she began to cry teething Hari thought his heart would just fall out. He purposely got himself in trouble despite Tom's frightful warnings when Eunice said her first word: _Mumma_.

Despite the fact he hadn't held her, or had any close contact with her in a little over a year, Hari still adored her. He adored her pudgy feet that ran across the house all day, her high pitched giggles when she watched the princesses on the telly, and even her tantrums when Ms. Petunia tried to force her to wear something she didn't want to.

It was _December_ now, and Eunice was turning two years old to Hari's seven and Dudley's nine. Ms. Petunia was planning a birthday party for her, which Hari thought was odd since the woman could barely stand to _touch_ Eunice. Most of her preschool had been invited, except the odd child or few who hadn't lived up to the Dursley's standards.

So Hari was now slaving away after arriving back to Number Four from school. He was put in charge of preparing all sorts of pastries and sweets and decorations and gift bags that it made his head spin.

His hands were covered in burns of varying degrees and sizing from the oven and the pans currently holding pink velvet cupcakes that Eunice had screamed for. The bottom layer of the cake was cooling on the counter, readying for the whipped icing Hari had to attempt _four times_ in order to make correctly. He had to pop the cupcakes out of the loose-bottom baking tin with the thin end of a wooden spoon and pour in more mixture, setting the pan back in the oven with the next layer of cake.

While they were set to bake he dolloped a decent amount of icing onto Eunice's first layer and spread it messily, but evenly. She may be growing to despise him, but he couldn't help his unconditional love that still stuck inside him. He would make sure everything was _perfect_. From the pink and white buttercream icing to the _Barbie_ figurine candles that would be sitting on top.

He had two hours to finish and he was spreading his magic around in order to help him—he didn't think he could do it otherwise. Recesses of the chill inside what Tom called his core went about surrounding the confections. It couldn't fill them, or they would be too cold and Hari would be punished. The more _disciplined_ part of his magic forced ribbons to tie into bows that looked like the instructions laid out for him to follow, hung them, and forced them to stick with flicks of Hari's wrist and a mental _Lignum_.

Ever since he first discovered just how _massive_ his magic was, Hari had been working on disciplining it under Tom's tutelage. Tom had taught him that his magic wasn't simply _his_ magic, it was its _own_ entity that had bound itself to Hari. Magic was living, aware, and _wild_. The less control you had over it, the easier it was for spells to backfire or simply not work, and you would _exhaust_ yourself trying to force your magic to comply.

The relationship between Magia and Magic was of _mutual benefit_ , Tom taught.

 _'Magic comes from the Gods, who come from the One. Magic is a direct connection from them to us.'_

Magic was a _gift_ , he had explained. Magic went to devout followers, prophets, priests, and those whom prophecies foretold about in the _Days Before Days_. Magical creatures had been the pure creations of the Gods—followers, servants, companions, as _Humans_ were to the _One_. Some Magia even believed that magic _was_ the One.

However, over time humans gave in to corruption. As borders were established and Houses raised, the _Era of Ends_ began. Forceful impregnation of those with magic, and those magical beings human enough to breed with led to the modern Magia, Magical Creatures, and those half-born to both such as _vampires_ or _veela_.

The connection to the Gods was mostly lost, left to priests and priestesses that hid in families that would become parts of the _Sacred Twenty-Eight, The Dynasties of Magical Creatures,_ and the _13 Divines_. Through these dozens of families, magic _thrived_. The Gods were worshipped in varying altars, stories were passed down with godly artifacts, and everything was _good_.

Until Magia began labeling magic; declaring who should practice what and which magics were _immoral_. Gods became outlawed to worship, pantheons were broken up, Houses and families were divided.

 _Light_ and _Dark_ became two warring sides of the same entity. And magic _wept_.

People began declaring themselves _Lords_ of the Dark and of the Light, seeking to conquer the world and force society to follow their own ideals. Dozens of wars broke out, _millions_ of lives were lost, and magic declared _no more_.

Those who were evil in their hearts and souls, undeserving of the gift that was magic, had it _ripped_ away from their very core. Magic deemed it to follow their descendants until granted a union between a _cursed_ soul and a _blessed_ one.

And thus the Muggles were born.

And a new side of war broke out.

In the beginning, Muggles were _slow_ and _barbaric_ and could be stopped with simple spells by the Magia. But they began to advance faster than the blessed could ever hope to. They built _armor_ and _weapons_ out of minerals from the earth, surging attacks onto small Magia communities and taking them over. It became known as the _Witching Wars_.

Magia were forced to go into hiding, pushing spells that barely held together in order to keep their communities safe and hidden. All was well, for a while. Until a _Dark Lord_ from _Neapose_ decided he wanted to make the entirety of Eurasia his dynasty, and re-sprung the wars between Dark and Light while the rest of the Magic world attempted to keep themselves hidden from the Muggle one.

Tom had told Hari that the war of the _Dark Lord Tian Zhihao_ had happened over several thousand years ago. Tom had also told Hari that the wizarding world was _still_ fighting wars, but they were so disconnected that England believed they were not in one. Hari had thought that that was rather ridiculous.

A _ping_ from the oven told Hari that his cupcakes were ready. The cake would probably take another five to ten minutes. For the time being till then, Hari would begin filling the goody bags that Petunia had counted and labeled. She was rather obsessed with showing off, Hari thought.

It didn't matter though; Hari would put up for it. For Eunice.

* * *

It was now _January_. Christmas break had come and went and Hari had never been more grateful than he was when school re-started.

For you see, Hari had a _new plan_.

His year 3 teacher, Mr. Prichard, let out class for recess _before_ lunch. This meant that Hari had a very tiny opportunity each day throughout recess to go inside for a _"bathroom break"_ , slip inside classroom 17B, and rifle through the lunch pails of his classmates.

It was the first day he had dared attempt such an act, originally being too fearful of the consequences of being caught both by his peers and his teacher. Then Christmas break came along, and the Dursleys stayed home on sundays, and Hari nearly _starved to death_.

He first went to a metal superhero lunch pail under the cubby name of _Michael_. _Michael_ was a scrawny kid with a mean attitude, who bullied Hari particularly nasty when tests were passed around. Hari had no problem stealing from him, and knew that _Michael's_ mother always packed him several sandwiches that he bragged about.

Hari only took the slices of ham from the ham-and-cheese sandwiches, and the package of crackers before moving on.

He was carefully selective so that he had a lesser chance of being caught: half a bag of grapes from _Amelia_ , an entire peanut-butter sandwich from _Ben (because really, who needed two?)_ , and as much water as he could hold from the boy's bathroom before running back outside.

He stayed hidden in the shadows as usual, skirting around the teachers whenever another student came too close, and _reveled_ in his victory.

At first he felt horrible whenever he returned to Number Four about his actions. But when Petunia announced her pregnancy again and began stocking up on _non-perishables_ , it became tradition. Very rarely were there food scraps in the trash or left on plates in the sink now, and Hari _hated_ it.

As weeks went by children began noticing more and more food went missing. Snacks they had secretly packed from their parents were no longer to be found in their backpacks. Food they witnessed guardians preparing turned up missing when they opened their lunchboxes, or substantially _less_ than they remembered. Naturally, they went to the teacher. Suspicion began to fall on Hari, the little boy who never had a lunch bag to bring to school. Mr. Prichard, in a spectacle of kindness Hari had never seen, had pulled Hari aside at the end of _March_ and asked him if he was the one responsible for the missing food. Hari had refused adamantly in the beginning, trying to cast blame on others, on _anyone_ else than himself, but finally, tearfully gave in and told the older man the truth.

Mr. Prichard had called the Dursleys and told them what had been happening, and that perhaps they should _pack a lunch for him_ to prevent such behavior in the future. Ms. Petunia had put on the perfect act, simpering into the phone about how _jealous_ Hari was with Eunice and Dudley and now the baby that was on the way, and that she would make sure that Hari got to school with the lunches she packed. She even threw a few lines about how Hari had been picking on _Dudley_ , and that she feared her boy may have been swiping his lunches as revenge.

Hari thought about walking into oncoming traffic on his way back as he heard Mr. Prichard and Ms. Petunia conversing over the speakerphone.

Hari was made to stay after class so his teacher and his _guardians_ could have a small meeting. As he sat on the hard, plastic chairs of his classroom he wished his magic would suck him up like a black hole. Petunia and Vernon had come in the _perfect_ picture of a loving, domestic couple. Petunia holding Eunice's small hand, her own free hand clutching _suggestively_ around her stomach, Vernon having his arm gently wrapped around her lower back.

And there sat Hari; a small, dirty boy with a strange name and no parents who had just gotten caught _stealing_.

Mr. Prichard had set up two more "adult" chairs at his desk along with Hari's right beside him. When Vernon and Petunia took their seats, with Eunice in Petunia's lap, Hari _prayed_ that the universe could just delete itself.

"Mr. And Mrs. Dursley," Mr. Prichard began slowly, expecting a warm first-name allowance by the couple. It was not given. He cleared his throat as moved on, faintly red-faced, "I wanted to meet with you to call to your attention Hari's _behavior_ lately."

"Why don't we just pinch right to the point, Mr. Prichard?" Petunia sighed. "Hari's been thieving, and it's all our fault." To Hari's confusion and utter horror, she began to sniffle.

"We've _tried_ to raise him right these past two years, but—but—" she cut herself off with a sob and leaned in to Vernon, who slipped his large arm around her and muttered comforting words into her ear.

"Oh good _heavens_ , that's not what I meant to imply!" Mr. Prichard groped around his necktie as beads of sweat began to collect on his temple. "I understand it's _difficult_ taking in a child that has a rather— _different_ —background and you two are nothing but admirable for doing such a thing!" He assured.

"I simply wished to discuss with _Hari_ why he's been acting out, so that perhaps the issues at home would be solved along with the issues here at West Bridge."

Petunia pulled out a delicate lace handkerchief and dabbed around her heavily made up eyes before wiping her nose. She gave Hari a very _distinct_ look and asked him, "Yes _darling_ , why _have_ you been acting out so?"

And all eyes were on him. He picked at the skin around his fingernails and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. Eunice surprised _everyone_ by speaking up.

"'s jus' 'cause he's _bad_ , that's why!"

Petunia placed a dragon-claw-like hand upon her daughter's brown hair. Hari could see Petunia's red nails beginning to twist in the curls and _pull_ just hard enough to let off as a warning. Vernon's face began to redden as Mr. Prichard's attention was diverted to the small girl.

"What do you mean he's _'bad'_ , honey?"

Eunice's hair was given a sharp but subtle tug as another warning. She would be punished if she got this answer wrong. Her and Dudley's punishments were never as bad as Hari's...but they still hurt.

"He—He breaks m' dolls suh'times. An—An' pulls m' hair."

She thought it best to tell what Dudley did instead of Hari. When the grip on her hair was lessened, she knew she made the right choice and snuggled into her Mumma's chest.

"How long has this behavior been going on? You mentioned he had been picking on your son?" Mr. Prichard gestured vaguely from Ms. Petunia to Hari and back again.

"I believe," she sniffled, "I believe that it's been going on ever since we _adopted_ him." She put special emphasis on the word.

" _Adopted_? Oh, my, well—exactly what _has_ Hari been doing?"

Petunia's eyes gleamed and she elbowed her husband. "Oh I just _couldn't_ —"

"He's been nothing but a menace! My Petunia is too soft on the boy, I say. He needs a strong _military_ upbringing. He's always all over our boy Dudley, and he's begun to go after Eunice! Who's to say he wouldn't attack our baby when it comes?"

Mr. Prichard looked both shocked and a little puffed up. It was well known that Mr. Prichard had served in the military many years ago, and that he had a soft spot for other military men _(despite the fact that Vernon had never served in a military of any sort)_.

He cast his eyes down to Hari and squared up his shoulders, attempting to look impressive in front of Mr. Dursley. "Well, Hari, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Hari knew what the Dursleys _wanted_ him to say. He was jealous. But he knew Mr. Prichard wouldn't believe him if he simply copied their words...but he would get in trouble if he didn't…

"I suppose I just want a family, sir. A real family." Hari answered carefully. "Dudley has a Mum and a Dad and a little sister and now _another_ baby on the way and I'm...I'm just Hari."

He made sure to kick his feet together and pick and his fingers. The more nervous he looked the more Mr. Prichard was likely to believe him.

His teacher looked at him with sad, pitying eyes. Hari hated the feeling.

"Hari I'm sure that if you _tried_ , you'd find that you have family as well. You have wonderful guardians _and_ siblings."

Hari nodded morosely.

"Hari," he snapped his head up at Petunia. She had _never_ addressed him before.

"We are _trying_ , but we can't be your real family if you don't let us. Will you let us be your family _Hari_ , and be a good boy?"

She gave him a sickly sweet smile and Hari new there was to be a _new game_.

"I'll be a good boy," he whispered, his gaze downcasted.

"That's all I needed to hear, _darling_."

* * *

Random Note: A bit over 4K

Do you guys think I should italicize less?

Also, who _actually_ reads fanfiction on a _laptop_? It feel so awkward.


	6. Chapter 6

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains racism and somewhat graphic descriptions of child abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

 _:parseltongue: 'mental conversation/thoughts'_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

Abuse scenes are based off of the _A Child Called It_ series and various episodes of _Law and Order: SVU_

* * *

Searching for Something I Cannot Find

(Or rather, a Loss of Oneself)

Since the day that the Dursleys and Mr. Prichard had had their meeting, Petunia had become absolutely _vicious_. It was nothing compared to how she was before, as she even began withholding meals from the younger two children. When questioned by an angrily whining Dudley or an innocently curious Eunice, she would sneer and hiss to _go ask **it**_.

Hari no longer was worthy of _names_ , or direct addressment. Instead, Petunia began to refer to him as _it_. Vernon and the children soon followed suit.

When Petunia began withdrawing meals, the children began to blame _it_. Dudley would take advantage of his large size and strength and beat the _freak_ until his knuckles hurt. Eunice was small, but _smart_. She decided to do things that could get him in trouble.

She knew that Mumma and Dadda made sure that _it_ never did any _special nonsense_ , and Eunice had only witnessed this a few times. She could remember once that it made all the windows crack without touching them, just because Petunia had been disciplining her. So, she decided to _tattle_ to her Mumma about all the _nonsense_ that it would get up to, even if all of it had come from her head and both her and her Mumma knew it wasn't true.

It didn't matter, because her Mumma _loved her_.

And Hari, poor Hari, had become more depressed. He became uninterested in his books, and brushed off or even went as far as to _silence_ Tom whenever he spoke up. He shut his magic away; He shut his feelings away; and Hari shut himself away.

School had become _worse_ if possible, since beginning year 4. Children were beginning to become more _physical_ in their attacks of him, and he didn't think it would take much longer before he was being cornered by others than Dudley. None of the teachers seemed to intervene, as all the boys seemed to back up each others stories. Even a nervous, bruised, bleeding Hari would attempt to _fess up_ to tell the teachers it was his fault.

Even Ms. Priskit, now _Mrs. Grindin_ , was no longer interested in _Hari the troublemaker_. At first, she had relayed her fears to Principal Henderson, but was alieved by Mr. Prichard, who _proved_ that the Dursleys were good caretakers through his meeting with them and with the brown sack that now accompanied Hari to lunch every day.

No one suspected that Hari was being forced to vomit it up after school.

The first time Petunia had presented him with a simple paper sack, Hari had nearly laughed. She instructed him to take it with him to school, and apologize to Mr. Prichard for its _lying_. She had told him that this would cut into his _debt_ and that he had better start looking for work.

During lunch he carefully unrolled the brown sack to reveal a single, plain cheese sandwich. He wolfed it down with a vengeance and had been begrudgingly grateful to Mr. Prichard for putting him in this situation in the first place.

When he returned back to what he now deemed _the House_ , Hari was promptly led back to the bathroom. He had thought that the _bath game_ waited for him, as Petunia had taken to using it quite often when issues of his _nonsense_ arose or she felt that he had been _particularly_ bad.

Instead, the bathtub was empty, and the toilet lid was up. She had shoved Hari to his knees in front of the bowl and and ordered him to vomit. Hari had tried to gag and cough the first few times, and Petunia had gotten fed up with how long he was taking.

She had ripped his head back by his black curls and forced her fingers down in his mouth. Her long, thick nails had scraped against his insides and Hari could faintly taste blood over the convulsing of his throat. When Petunia ripped out her fingers it was near instantaneous for Hari to retch into the bowl. It was horrid and acidic and faintly pink coloured, and when he coughed blood spattered against the inside of the toilet bowl.

She hadn't believed that that was the end, and when her fingers dug back into Hari's hair he couldn't help his reaction. His hands flung up and clawed at hers as he begged, "Please, _please_ , I can finish myself—I'll be _good_ , I promise, _I promise_!"

He became a quivering mantra of half-gurgled, half-whimpered pleadings and promises to _be good_ and to _finish himself_. When she stepped back, Hari became a sobbing mess of _thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you_. And then Hari had to reach his own tiny fingers in his mouth, past the point he was definitely comfortable with, and willed himself to jam his fingers even further back as far as he could. He wasn't as lucky as Petunia to pull his fingers out before he began be sick.

He was made to do it thrice more, each time trying harder and harder to pretend he couldn't taste the still-wet, sickly-sweet copper on his fingers, or that he couldn't feel the scrapes and gashes along the inside of his throat, or that he wasn't even in this situation at all.

And each day, he believed his pretending a little less, and his horror became a little more real.

* * *

As ordered, Hari had gotten odd jobs around the private community of _Little Whinging_ ; but most people wouldn't hire him because of his skin or his school record. Those that did paid him little, or ripped him off completely. The only exception was his beloved Ms. Figg, who would pay him simply for his time.

It became an odd sort of ritual for Hari, that after school and after his _punishment_ , to stop by and check his usual houses for jobs before going off to Ms. Figg's. The only days that she may have been missing were Sundays, and she had told Hari that he was welcome during then anyway to keep away from the Dursleys.

Hari learned an awful lot about Ms. Figg in the time it took Petunia to birth one _Mildred Claire Dursley_ between _January 21st_ and _May 29th_. He learned that on Ms. Figg had used to be married to a man named _Capricus Grom_ who had took her last name when they married. He learned that Ms. Figg was currently a _squib_ , but hadn't been born one _(something that had greatly shocked Tom)_.

Hari had learned that the same war that took her husband and permanently injured her son was also the same war that took her magic. Hari learned that Ms. Figg went to go visit Cristiano on Sundays, and that the good days were the days that he didn't recognize his mother.

She didn't speak about the bad ones.

Hari had also began to learn much of the English _wizarding world._ He learned the currency, and its Muggle equivalence, and had begun to have been tutored by Ms. Figg in the basics of standard _(and not-so-standard)_ wizard education, when Mildred had come along.

Hari became _very_ grateful for the small hoards of pocket change he kept at Ms. Figg's when he was once again assigned baby duty. He became very grateful because Petunia's _familial hunger_ game apparently extended towards her very nearly newborn baby, and had said that Hari would have to buy Mildred's formula itself. She had also offhandedly mentioned that if her child starved, Hari would have wished it had been him.

So Hari had begun a _new_ ritual. His day began at _12-a.m_ , as Tom taught, and ended at _11:59-p.m_. He would first stay up with Mildred in his cupboard for all hours of the day until school, rocking her quietly between his arms and soothing her with blanket-curls of magic. When he had to head to school he would wrap her up in the largest, cleanest shirt he had and set her in the makeshift cot of clothes overlaid with his old, cleaned dishrag. He would sleep through classes _(his teachers had long since given up on him)_ , before rushing home as fast as he could at the beginning of lunch to check on and care for Mildred, and rush back just in time for the end of recess. After school he would once again force his legs to run until they felt like they would burst to get back to _the House_ , simply to check on and care for his baby again, and then took her with him when he went to Ms. Figg's.

He now went first to the woman who felt like his mother and dropped off Mildred before running back and forth between his usual houses, and some odd ones that sometimes offered him a job or two. Then he would go back to Mildred and Ms. Figg, and simply _be_. And they would be happy, most days of most weeks, for an hour a day. Until Hari had to return.

Hari could count on Ms. Figg spending money from his jar on things Hari thought of as essentials. She wrote down each cost of every item and how much it left Hari with _(and if there was more boxes than were counted on the receipts and more money in Hari's jar, well Ms. Figg never said anything)_. Hari used Ms. Figg's spare bedroom as Mildred's storage room, under Ms. Figg's insistence.

Now, instead of a large, king sized bed there was a double twin bed shoved in the corner opposite the door, covered in quilts and pillows Ms. Figg had made herself. Instead of a lavish, corner-made China cabinet, there was now a _proper crib_ for Mildred.

Instead of magically cleaned clothes that Hari still felt iffy about, there was now a beautiful redwood rocking crib with great fluffy cats carved into the head and baseboard. As months went by and Ms. Figg assured Hari that Mildred could process moving pictures, he made the cats move with an offhanded suggestion made by Tom.

And as Mildred became older and Hari taught her to _smile_ and _roll_ and _hold up her head_ , he expected Petunia to take her from him. But she didn't. Instead she began preparing for Eunice's birthday and ordered Hari to stay out of the house longer than usual.

A week before Eunice turned three is when she caught Hari shushing a crying Mildred and _singing_ to her. Eunice went stiff and simply watched as Hari cradled her baby sister and whispered over and over again that _he loved her_.

Mumma _never_ held her like that.

Mumma _never_ sang to her.

Mumma _never_ told her that Mumma loved her…

Eunice felt jealousy roll up in her tummy as large, round tears made their way down her face much to her horror. She felt very much that she should be the one Hari was holding and singing to...and a faint whisper in her head said that maybe once she had been?

Her sniffles had caused Hari to whip his head around to face her so fast that for a moment Eunice was _afraid for him_ that he may snap his neck right in two. And then he looked at her...like he looked at Mumma.

"Please, please, _please_ don't tell, Eunice—Mil-Mildred's sick and I—I _can't_ get her to calm down, please, _I'm sorry_."

Here he was...begging her...like he begged Dudley when Dudley hit him. Like _she_ begged Dudley when he decided to hit her. Tears swept down her face faster than before and she brought up her hands to try to choke back her whimpering.

"Why—why doesn't my Mumma l-love me like—like _that_?"

The mirror in the bathroom began to quake and crack and Eunice was afraid that _Hari_ might punish _her_ for speaking ill about her Mumma. She was very surprised when instead of a sharp slap across the face that usually left shallow cuts, she was engulfed in thin arms and squished against a flat chest and a warm bundle.

"Hey, it's okay…"

And then he was singing to _her_. Singing to her and holding her like she was _precious_ to him. And she no longer had quite sobs, and neither did Mildred, and they were _happy_.

* * *

When Eunice began to purposely cause up trouble in the hopes that her mother would send her with Hari, Hari thought his heart would stop. She would push over expensive vases, rip up flowers in the garden, and spill food, all within sight of her mother or when she was the _only logical culprit_.

Even when the backs of her legs began to permanently adopt shades of purples and yellows, some with blistering welts that oozed pus if she scratched them, Eunice persisted. She would purposefully muss up her Mumma's makeup and stain her nice clothes with food, or _misplace_ her Mumma's nice jewelry, and even nicked through her purse once. It never mattered much to Eunice, since when she came limping to Hari's cupboard he would hold her _(and let her hold Mildred)_ and sing the Horse song to her and use what he called _magic_ to make her hurts go away.

And Eunice had become very attached to Hari, and very attached to Mildred, whom she now addressed as _Millycat_. When Mildred would cry in the cupboard with Hari, Eunice would sing the Horse song that Hari had been teaching her to calm Millycat down. Hari had told her that _his_ Mumma sang it to him when _he_ was a baby. It made Eunice feel very special.

Sometimes during the Horse song, when it was late at night, Hari would even _make_ horses. He could make tiny horses that looked like they were made from the fireplace-smoke gallop around the small enclosure, whinny quietly, and even _nuzzle_ the young girls.

It was Dudley's tenth birthday on June 23rd that Eunice was caught talking to _it_ by their Aunt Marge.

Marjorie Nelson-neé-Dursley had seldom come around Little Whinging, both due to her dislike of Petunia and her intense hatred of Hari. When she did visit, she always made sure to bring her current dog who she had trained to have an intense distrust for _coloured people_. Since Razor had died four years ago, she decided to keep his best son as her new breeding male, and he was completely _brutal_.

Hari had no fond memories of what he knew was his _Aunt_ Marge. The first time he had met her _(that he could remember)_ was when he had been a little older than three at Dudley's fifth birthday. Dudley had demanded that Hari join him and his best friend _Piers Polkiss_ in a game of musical chairs. Hari was quicker, however, and won most of the games. In retaliation, Mrs. Nelson had whipped around Hari's legs with her walking cane for _humiliating Dudders at his birthday!_ Later that day she had sent Razor after him, and Hari ended shut up in his cupboard, crying, while the beastly bulldog clawed and snarled outside his flimsy door. She had decided to stay over the weekend, and Hari was not allowed out while she was inside the house, and dare not venture outside when he believed Razor would be waiting for him.

She had only visited during Dudley's seventh, ninth, and now _tenth_ birthday, all due to Dudley's incessant pleading. Hari was rather grateful to whomever kept her from visiting regularly, and thought he couldn't possibly have hated the woman _more_. That was until she caught Eunice telling Hari a silly joke she had learned off the telly.

Marge had ripped both of them up by their arms and dragged them to the kitchen, to report to Vernon in front of _Petunia_ what she had seen. That Eunice had been _talking_ to it, _joking_ and _laughing_ with it.

Hari had had Mildred ripped away from him moments later, and had had Eunice taken away all over again. He was forced to watch as Eunice was _disciplined_ by Aunt Marge and her cane. Eunice, in turn, was forced to lay whimpering on the floor as Marge and Petunia _punished_ Hari. She couldn't have moved, even if she had felt like she deserved to. When Vernon decided to punish Hari, and invited Dudley to help, Eunice became very ashamed of herself.

Eunice became very ashamed because she turned away from Hari, whose dull dull _dull_ eyes stared at her like her dolls did, and she simply shut her eyes and clapped her hands over her ears.

Hari wasn't supposed to look like that.

Hari wasn't supposed to _sound_ like that.

Hari wasn't _dull_ or _lifeless_ ; her Hari was _warm_ and _loving_ and _so so so full of hope_.

And his screams began permeating through her poor barriers and she simply screwed her eyes shut tighter and clamped her hands down harder against her ears.

—broken, hurting, _because of her_.

It seemed like a very long time to Eunice before Hari stopped screaming. It was even longer when his silence stretched on and the curses that flew from her relatives' mouths and the muted _thumps_ of fists against flesh echoed around her skull. Tears leaked from her eyes when they finished with Hari and she was suddenly scooped up into large arms, shushing her.

Her Dadda pat her back and told her that they _disciplined her_ because they _loved her_ and that it was _necessary_. Eunice nodded into his shoulder and watched Hari's form soak up more of the dark, growing puddle beneath him from over her Dadda's back.

Eunice broke down that night, for Hari, and told herself that she deserved each bruise blossoming on her skin for getting him in trouble.

She whispered the melody of Hari's horse song, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Hari had been left in the kitchen when Mr. Vernon had gathered up Eunice. He couldn't bring himself to be worried over her, or himself, or angry, or _anything_.

All Hari knew was pain, and even that began to fade out with the sleep that tugged at him.

 _'Do **not** fall asleep!'_

But sleep sounded _wonderful_ and Hari hurt _so much_.

 _'Hari if you fall asleep you will **die**.'_

That sounded nice, Hari supposed. If he died, he wouldn't hurt anymore, and he could probably sleep all he wanted.

Hari's mind was suddenly filled with thousands of overlapping _buzzes_ , complete with sharp, mental prods that Hari equated much to stingers. He shifted on to floor, groaning when his mouth met a silky, coppery-tasting substance that seemed to stain his face.

Hari hadn't known a person could bleed that much…

 _'Hari, wake up! **Now**!'_

And his body was forcibly _lurched_ against Hari's own willing. He watched, fascinated, as his hands began to spasm and plant themselves on the floor, pushing him up. Hari didn't make them do that...in fact, now that he thought about it, he was even _losing feeling_ in his arms, and now his legs.

He felt bones forcibly snap back into place. When they couldn't set themselves automatically, Hari was left with joints grinding against each other that caused him terrible amounts of pain.

His body got up without Hari's consent. Every action was made without Hari's order, awkwardly making his way toward his cupboard. He looked like a puppet with tangled strings being dragged towards his destination, and dropped like one with its strings cut once inside.

His whole body felt like burning hot needles were being pushed inside excruciatingly slow. Over the mind-numbing pain that filled Hari's mind he could barely make out Tom's desperate _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_.

Then his back was arching, nearly snapping in half. Blinding agony swept through him and Hari swore even his _hair_ hurt.

He could barely make out shapes in the darkness, his eyes blurring together and being overcome with fantastical colours. They grew in his vision, in all shapes and hues, and took over any light that was visible to him.

And then, all the sudden, everything was dark, and Hari was no longer aware.

He could faintly feel consciousness brushing his dreams of having tea with Ms. Figg, with a tiny brunette girl in a pretty pink dress taking up the green armchair and cooing at newborn kittens. The image was thin, like dust, waiting to be reshaped into a room Hari had been getting to know all-too-well. There was a bed full of homemade quilts and pillows against the far wall, and opposite it was now a _bunk bed_. The top tier had sheets of faint pink and the bottom of cool yellows.

His pain faded away with the dust of ever-changing scenes of Hari and _his_ girls at Ms. Figg's, having tea parties or singing or showing them _magic_ —

And in his dreams, Hari was happy. They ended far too soon for his liking, and began slipping away quicker than Hari would have preferred _(Hari would have liked to hold on to them forever, but…..)_ He fought against his consciousness, as much as he could, desperate to stay in his dreams. But alas, he failed, and woke to something he much more readily would have believed was a dream.

At the time that Hari had awoken, he began panicking at the _holes_ in his vision. They were like tiny pinpricks of swirling stars in random patterns scattered throughout what was left of his sight. They didn't necessarily _obscure_ what he could see, more like pin-sized black holes sucking in everything around it. When he tried to focus on one or the other, they _grew_. Translucent light spiderwebbed from them, connecting each _star_ together before merging into _one_. One that _opened_. It was like a greater version of opening his eyes—watching it split open like an eye all its own and reveal a whole other _world_.

It looked almost like the space cartoons Hari caught glimpses of on the telly when he cleaned; swirls of deep, _aware_ colours that varied in hues Hari knew and ones that Hari could never imagine. He could feel the consciousness from the world in front of him, laughing at him affectionately.

 _"Such a promising child,"_ a voice, an eerie mix of Ms. Figg and Lily, seemed to resonate from the space. _"Yet such pain lies ahead of you…"_

It seemed to contemplate, the silks of its being—her being?—ruffled like Ms. Petunia's curtains in the breeze.

 _"I suppose you'll do,"_ It teased, pushing him back out of the expanse gently. _"Awake now, child, for I fear the alternative is quite unfavourable."_

It confused Hari, for wasn't he awake now? But then he watched as the spiderwebs reappeared throughout the eye he was looking through and closed, reforming the stars that afflicted his vision beforehand.

And then they seemed to blur out of his perception. If he focused he could still take notice of _some_ of them, but they no longer directly distracted him. He rubbed his hands against his eyes to try to dislodge the remaining ones, if he even _could_ , only to freeze when he felt up along his scar. His scar had _grown_. Now it wasn't such a strange concept to Hari, since when he was four it barely stretched across half of his forehead and the last time he had seen it in Ms. Figg's fancy bathroom mirror it had been running down and beginning to intercept his right eyebrow. _Now_ , however, he could feel it _past_ his eyebrow and working its way around his eye.

Anxiously Hari traced the raised skin to where he knew it would end, or rather, where he _thought_ it would end. Instead of grazing just at his hairline, now it extended in a slow curve that started to aim at his ear. Hari was _horrified_.

He had an inkling that his scar-growth was tied to the now absolutely _giant_ mindscape Tom who gleamed a deep, lake-muck green, punctuating with what resembled black eyes along his body. His head was now the length of Hari's head and torso, and over twice as thick. His body could of easily swallowed Vernon, and while Hari was happy that his friend was getting better, he was fearful of what his friend _did_ in order to cause his scar and Tom's mental body to grow at such a rate in such little time.

Hari began to think that perhaps his companion, _Tom_ , was more than he was letting on.

* * *

Random Note: A bit over 4K

Age Guide:  
Dudley was born June 23, 1978

Hari was born July 31, 1980

Eunice was born December 18, 1985

Mildred was born May 29, 1988


	7. Chapter 7

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains racism and somewhat graphic descriptions of child abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

 _:parseltongue: 'mental conversation/thoughts'_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

Abuse scenes are based off of the _A Child Called It_ series and various episodes of _Law and Order: SVU_

* * *

Mother, May I?

(Or rather, Dreams are Dreams are Dreams)

Tom only raised more questions than he gave answers when Hari had asked him what he did. _'A blood ritual, of sorts I suppose...'_ He had said, but even he seemed unsure.

 _'I called upon several Gods, asking them for their favour, to save your life. One seemed to answer.'_

Tom had then pondered exactly which of the apparent _twenty-odd_ Celestials he had called on could have healed Hari.

 _'I suppose it **could** have been Cerridwen...she is a Mother God, or Goddess I suppose,'_ he corrected when he sensed Hari's confusion, _'Yet she is considered a Dark Goddess, and would have little to do with intervening in someone's death.'_

He had listed off several others, such as _Danu, Durga, Amaterasu, Hera,_ or even _Gaia_ , whom Tom claimed seldom interfered with earthly affairs.

 _'Well...she sounded like Lily and like Ms. Figg?'_ Hari had tried.

 _'Mother Goddesses often will. That is, sound like those you see as a maternal guardian. What did she look like?'_

Hari was rather surprised. After all, Tom was in his _head_ , so shouldn't that mean that he should have been able to see her too? Hari half thought he may have been losing his grip on reality, because these things simply didn't happen to _normal_ people. _Normal_ people couldn't rip open _nothing_ and see into space. _Normal_ people didn't have complete other people in their heads. But...He thought back to the silk-like textures inside the _other world_. The other world that _apparently_ was inside his _mind_. He wouldn't give that up, even if it meant sanity. Her voice, that sounded so much like _Lily_ and so much like _Ms. Figg_...the way the energy inside, the very _world itself_ pushed him gently, like a mother ushering forward her child.

 _'She didn't **look** like anything...it was all colours and stars, like outer space.'_

Tom was silent for a moment. _'There is a high chance that you ventured into the outer reaches of her realm.'_

 _'...what?'_

Tom scoffed, as if Hari should know this. _'Every Celestial has a realm, where they decide to build their **kingdom**. Where they hold their powers, like Heaven would be for Yahweh. It is—not another dimension—but another layer upon reality. Each realm is connected to the Spirit Worlds, and followers of Gods usually venture from there to their Patrons' domain.'_

 _'So...I was in this God's realm?'_

 _'Not quite. You were more standing outside the door of the realm, or caught between the walls. You were inside the bridge that connects there, by her allowance.'_

Well, at least it made sense to why everything looked like it was barely held together. Hari just wondered if the actual "inside" would look better…

 _'How could I get there anyway? Can anyone go?'_ Hari meant Magia, and nearly smacked himself for his mistake. When he wasn't specific, he usually got long lectures about information he hadn't wanted in the first place.

 _'Yes and no. Followers can go to their specific Gods realms. Magia and Muggles can visit only after death or by being chosen. Priests of Gods, or chosen ones such as Prophets or the Favoured, can visit at will after being trained how. In the Spirit World, spirits can roam anywhere they please, unless banned or held by a specific God.'_

Muggles could go to a God's realm? Hari supposed it made sense, since they were descended from Magia in the first place...but _still_.

 _'So...she saved me because I'm chosen?'_

 _'No. She saved you because when I called out, offering your services in exchange for not dying, she took an interest. She saved you because in that moment she chose you.'_

 _'You offered what!?'_ He was going to be a _slave_? Not only to some no-good _obscenities_ that Ms. Figg would definitely not approve of Hari using, but now to some _God_ that Hari didn't even _know_?

 _'Your services. Such as becoming a Champion or a Priest.'_

Oh. Well, that didn't sound _too_ bad. Hari vaguely recalled a Champion being someone who was rather like a knight, and he knew a Priest was someone that taught and ministered a church. He pondered a bit—if his new _Patron_ , he supposed, was a Mother Goddess, then there couldn't be too many looking to fight her, right?

 _'Oh. So all I have to do is defend her honor or whatever, or "spread her word"?'_ The sarcasm was heavy on his tongue. He had learned that particular phrase from the church shows Ms. Petunia enjoyed watching on Sundays and Wednesdays. Hari doubted he could ever take himself seriously again if he began speaking like the men on those shows.

 _'Not quite. You would fight in her name, in whatever role she chooses. If she chooses you to be a Knight, then you will slay her enemies as you can. If she chooses you to be a Healer, you would fight the wars on sickness; injustice for the sick, prejudice against the hopelessly diseased, and your weapon would be cures instead of curses. If she chooses you to be a Necromancer, you will do so; communing with the deceased and assisting those who need it.'_

 _'And I could do that or be a Priest?'_

 _'No,'_ Tom shifted inside his head, almost like a silent sigh, _'You would become that **and** a Priest. Since she actually took the time to save your life, I would think that it may be one of the Minor Goddesses in a pantheon, one with not many followers. Therefore, she needs both.'_

 _'Oh.'_ Well then. Hari preferred the idea of becoming a Healer, since he wasn't too big on killing anyone, or even thought he could give Necromancy a try _(even if he absolutely **wasn't** scared of ghosts, thank you very much)_. He thought back to _"You'll do"_ from the being he now knew to address as female. She said he _would do_ , but what _exactly_ would he do for?

 _'Can I ask her? What I want to be, I mean.'_

 _'I suppose you could, if you contacted her. You would need to know her name first.'_

Hari huffed through his nose. He did that quite a lot when he was irritated.

 _'Well if you hadn't asked so many of those—Gods or whatevers—then I **would** know her name.'_

Hari felt Tom sulk around in his head, scales flaring out slightly like Snowy's fur when she was angry. There were low, sarcastic hisses emanating from the back of Hari's head. Well, if Tom wanted to pout, so be it. It was his fault anyway.

 _'Oh yes, **thank you** Tom for saving my life. Oh no, no **really** , thank you for going out of you way to save me. And thank you **so much** for going out of your way to teach me.'_

Hari giggled quietly to himself. Tom often did this, mocking Hari or trying to guilt trip him. He always apologized later, but he was entertainingly antagonistic.

 _'Oh please, you know you'd die of boredom if you didn't teach me.'_

And then there were scales absolutely bristling against his mind. He tried to muffle his laughter behind his hands. Oh, now Tom would pout for a while, but it was worth it.

* * *

After Tom had finished throwing his fit, he finally told Hari that there was a way to narrow down which Goddess had chosen him, and then figure out exactly which one it was through trial and error. Apparently, all Hari had to do was meditate and build his _Occlumency_ shields and his _Legilimency_ skills. Tom explained that they were _mind magics_ and that Hari had already been subconsciously practicing them, both with his communication with Tom and in learning how to escape to his mindscape.

However, he would have to delve _deeper_ into his mind through meditation and contact that _world_ again, pulling it into his mind and trying to decipher it. That was where Legilimency came into play. He would have to sort of _read the Goddess's mind_ , something that Hari thought was a very _bad_ idea. Tom assured him that since she was a Goddess, no one could slip in undetected and certainly not without her permission. It wouldn't even be the actual mind reading—it would be more like _interpreting_ , Tom said.

 _'Besides, it'll be fun! I've never done this before.'_

That certainly reassured Hari. Reassured him more that he was going to be smote by a pissed off Goddess more than anything, but he supposed it count.

So that's what they did, for _months_. When Hari was locked away in his cupboard—they meditated. When Hari was lying incapacitated after punishment—they slipped away to his mindscape. At night, when Hari was supposed to be sleeping—he found that even if he had _mentally_ been awake all night, _physically_ he wasn't exhausted.

The more they practiced the more changes Hari would notice about himself. His magic, at first wild and free and only partially domesticated like a lion that was no longer hungry, was now _soft_ but _strong_. It prowled around Hari like a large predator, _waiting_. It came to his call near instantly, with or without verbal orders to direct it. While he couldn't _quite_ reach the world again, he could spread open the stars in his sight to catch glimpses and tastes of _her_ magic.

And _oh_ , was it intoxicating.

It felt like being wrapped up by Ms. Figg and being back inside his mother's womb and being _filled_ with love. It was Ms. Figg's tea that was terribly sweet and the _song_ he remembered just barely, the way that Ms. Priskit use to smile at him and give him sparkling stickers and _blue_.

 _'Her eyes are blue.'_

 _'What?'_

 _'Her eyes—the Goddess—they're blue.'_

Tom seemed flabbergasted, for he didn't say anything the next moment. There wasn't even any movement in Hari's head before,

 _'That—That's literally nothing. Absolutely—I mean **absolutely** —phenomenally useless information.'_

Hari decided to use his newly found Occlumens shields to drown out and silence his companion. Now that Hari could _choose_ whether or not to listen to Tom's toddler-like tirades, Hari often chose _not_ to. Trust Tom to ignore that Hari had finally made progress and discovered something about the Goddess in the _seven_ months they had been practicing, all in favour of _scolding_ _him_ about how useless it was.

Ignoring the muted banging against his walls, which was probably a hissy-fitting Tom angry that Hari wasn't listening to him pitch, Hari chose to delve back into his mindscape. It had changed from the castle expansion that Tom had originally created, and now featured a duplicate of Ms. Figg's house in a partial rainforest. Inside were mental projections of Ms. Figg, Eunice, and a growing Mildred, along with each of Ms. Figg's strange-looking cats. They didn't do much, merely said what Hari remembered one of them saying now or then or what Hari imagined they would say, and the cats butt their heads against all the furniture and loved the girls. All in all, it became Hari's happy place.

It also became the only grasp of Ms. Figg Hari now had, as since _that day_ he had been banned from going out again. If the neighbors wanted his work, they would come directly to the Dursley's, who would charge quite a bit of money. It drove many customers away, and attracted several creepy ones that Hari despised working for. Just in case, Tom gave him a few _curses_ if one of them tried anything. Even though none of them hadn't so far, Hari was still wary.

It only made his ventures to his mindscape more meaningful, and filled him with determination to do better. It drove him to work _harder_ , to push himself past his limits and absolutely _exhaust_ himself.

Ms. Figg gave him tastes of freedom, love, and family, completed by Eunice and Mildred. Hari had these things in his grasp, and he was not willing to give them up. Hari had just been surviving for so long, but now—Hari wanted to _live_.

* * *

It was June once again; Mid-June to be exact. It was to be Dudley's birthday in a mere five days, and Petunia was _antsy_. Marjorie had agreed to come for a visit, which would make the odd three year visit in a row, and stay _until the end of July_. Hari was, decidedly, _not thrilled_.

Customers had been shooed away from renting Hari so that he could clean the house until he absolutely ached. Instead of mopping the two—technically four—story house, Hari was ordered to _scrub it with a dishrag_. Instead of the usual downstairs and upstairs, he had to scrub the _attic_ , the _basement_ , and even the _garage_. Hari thought it all rather ridiculous, but kept that to himself and Tom. He polished silverware after hand washing it _and_ running it through the dishwasher, waxed the wooden furniture in the house that could be waxed, and vacuumed _daily_ since the beginning of June.

It was a nonstop process of constant cleaning. From the time Hari awoke to the time he exhausted himself into his mindscape, or actually slept, Ms. Petunia would find _busywork_ for him to do.

 _"Clean the gutters!"_

 _"Weed the garden!"_

 _"Mow the yard!"_

Even if he had done it all a week, a few days, or even a _single day_ before, Petunia persisted. By the 17th of June, Hari was left feeding his magic into the soil of the gardens to prevent the plants from looking _completely_ mangled and spreading it throughout the yard to boost the growth of the grass simply so he _could_ shave it half a hair. It stretched his magic more than he ever had and left him worn out, but it gave Hari a rush. To feel his magic seep into each plant and wrap around it, threading through it, was a feeling like nothing Hari had ever experienced. He could almost feel their pulse of life, their own brand of magic, and it was _fascinating_.

Tom told him that what Hari was doing was called _Chloromancy_ —Garden or Green Magic—and wasn't altogether surprised that it came easy to Hari. Tom went as far as to suggest that so might the other elemental magics, since Hari had such a large magical core. He did warn Hari that having a large core was _not_ a get-out-of-studying-free card, as just because they came easily to him did not mean that he was naturally proficient. His grumbling made Hari smile to himself, mouthing after him outside his head where he knew Tom wouldn't be able to see.

 _'I can feel you mocking me.'_

Hari laughed. It was the last time he would for a while, since Mrs. Nelson arrived at Number Four of Privet Drive the next morning.

Marjorie Nelson was imposing as before, with clothes a size or few too small stretched around her stout frame unflatteringly. She wielded her cane like a weapon, even giving Hari's door a good _whack!_ as she passed it.

" _Boy!_ Get my luggage!"

Inside, Hari flinched violently. He thought he would wait until she was a safe distance away to creep out, but Marge had other plans.

"Boy, get out here and _get my luggage_!"

Multiple _thwacks_ hit against his door so hard Hari feared it would break. He slowly reached to push it open with shaky hands, but was too late as the door was ripped open and a furious Marge was revealed on the other side. Her face reddened much like how Vernon's did, and Hari could practically see the steam rising from her head. He was grateful that her short, large arms couldn't fit in his cupboard to grasp him—not that she didn't _try_.

Hari knew that it would only get worse if he didn't get out, but he also knew the moment he did Marge would grab him. He made a decision: using his magic to subtly push her arm _just_ past him, he slipped around her and pressed himself against the opposite wall, chin tucked tightly against his chest.

He felt more than saw as she whipped around his direction, pushing her face into his and puffing hot, unpleasant breaths against Hari's cheeks. Marge seized his throat with her thick fingers.

"Listen here, _boy_ ," she hissed venomously, spittle flying from her lips, "If you try to make a fool of me you'll be finding yourself sorely mistaken. I'll have Vernon throw you out faster than Ripper can tear through your legs. Now _go—get—my—luggage_."

She threw him against the floor and stomped off, causing the floor and the walls to shake with each heavy step until she was safely away from the entrance room. Hari fought back the urge to groan when he forced himself up, choking back coughs and wheezes. He rubbed at his neck tenderly and tiptoed across to the door, careful not to make a noise in case it brought upon the wrath of another one of the elder Dursleys.

Parked outside in the driveway _(right behind where Petunia's car would come out, Hari noticed)_ was Marge's silver BMW. He could see Ripper clawing at the front window, stepping over smaller bags to bark and snap at Hari. For now, Hari avoided the front and chose to unload the trunk. He would save the interior for _last_ , to see if he could trick Ripper into the back yard before earning another bite mark on his leg.

It took him three trips, even with magic, to empty out the trunk. He decided to set them in a small pile beside the door in the entrance room, something he would probably be punished for later, but he didn't know which room Marge had insisted on taking and he _certainly_ wasn't intent on asking. Before he took his chances with Ripper, Hari decided to put up a barrier between the front and back seats and stuff as many suitcases he could carry in his arms before slamming the door and dropping the charm. _This_ process took four trips, and then it was time for _Ripper_.

Hari flattened himself out along the door and yanked it open, pulling himself up over the car door and onto the roof safely away from the dog that was currently in a mad frenzy. The white bulldog pounced along the car, leaving small scratch marks along the front side and the leather interior of the door, snapping at Hari and howling like a wild beast. Hari, in turn, eyed the gate at the very corner of the house and split himself off the hood. He ran like he was possessed, with Ripper hot on his heels, before slamming into the _locked_ gate and screaming when he felt sharp teeth sink their way into his left leg. He forced the gate to open with his magic, practically causing the lock to _explode_ , before kicking Ripper inside and tugging back his metal safety net. Ripper was whimpering and licking his paw, but Hari had little sympathy with his heavily bleeding leg. He twisted around to gauge the damage and breathed a sigh of relief when it was only somewhat deep. No skin was left hanging, and he could probably heal it quite easily later...or perhaps even now?

He had been using his magic quite a bit. Even though it wasn't enough to put much of a dent in it, but healing himself, _especially_ forcing skin to grow back in such a short period of time, took a lot out of him. Hari decided to risk it. He channeled his magic into his leg, focussing on interweaving it into the areas that were currently oozing blood at an uncomfortable rate. He felt it begin to sting, and his skin begin to grow back, before he stopped, completely out of breath. When he looked back at it he saw that there were tiny scabs surrounding the area, but it hadn't healed much at all.

He tried again.

And again.

And again.

Four times, until he was sure it wouldn't work and spent the last of his magic _forcing_ it to stay, holding his breath until he was red in the face. And finally, _finally_ , the back of his leg was covered in infected-looking scabs that no longer bled. Well—-he would deal with that later. Hari limped back to the car and finished unloading the front and, as expected, once inside he was ripped up by his throat again by Mrs. Nelson for leaving out her things.

He never noticed the small elf owl that sat perched in the tree of the front yard, watching him unblinkingly the whole time.

* * *

Marjorie had stayed until the second week of _September_. During that time, Hari walked on eggshells when he was allowed outside his cupboard and threw himself in harm's way when he saw Marge's rage begin to single in on one of the younger girls, or even, to Hari's surprise, _Dudley_. He didn't quite understand why he was protecting Dudley, especially when it often ended in said boy joining in on his punishment, but he could _feel_ that the alternative to leave him was definitely not good.

He had been ripped up out of school, with the claim that Petunia was sick and she needed all the help she could get, and was left to fend for himself from Dudley's birthday till Marjorie left. Thanks to Marjorie, Hari had been gifted a pair of Vernon's old glasses. His stars had become more and more numerous, and Hari hadn't quite figured out how to make them go away completely, which resulted in him bumping into things and slamming into walls or doors that he nearly couldn't see. However, he had to be somewhat grateful, since the stars seemed to refract off of the glass within the frames just enough that Hari could make his way about in the unfocused world.

The prescription made his eyes hurt and gave him horrible headaches, but Hari supposed it was better than nothing.

And now, with his new _gift_ , Hari was being forced back to school. He would be a week late, with Petunia's _illness_ that suddenly seemed to have afflicted her, and be forced into Mr. Osturbur's 5th year homeroom. Apparently Marge had specifically requested him since Mr. Osturbur dealt mainly with the _delinquent_ children, and had no problem punishing as needed.

What was even _better_ about him was that he was part of the _expansion_ _program_. West Bridge had decided that they needed to split first through third year and fourth through sixth year into two separate buildings. Both Petunia and Hari were gleeful; Petunia would now no longer have to provide Hari a lunch, and Hari could attempt to sneak food from his classmates again.

Hari soon found out that Mr. Osturbur may have been even more vile than Marjorie Nelson herself. Apparently _Officer_ Osturbur had been a high commanding officer in Her Majesty's Royal Army, and had chosen to retire many years ago. He told them believed in corporal punishment, and brought out a long, thin ruler-like instrument with small holes drilled through it and set it on his desk. Hari would learn exactly how Mr. Osturbur planned to use it.

Long sleeves were prohibited in class; either you rolled them up or wore a sleeveless shirt. Talking out of turn ended you with a single lash across the inside of your arm. Disrespect earned you three lashes. Bad grades earned you five. If you were unlucky enough to be picked out as an _example_ , ten lashes would be delivered across your arms.

When he came back to _the House_ with welted arms, the only sympathetic looks he gained were from Eunice, who was still too ashamed to talk to him. Vernon usually looked at him snidely when he caught glimpses of the harsh, red marks. Dudley had made it a habit to wrench Hari's arm by the wounds and use them to drag Hari around, particularly at the schoolyard to impress other children _(particularly Piers Polkiss)_.

He had stopped temporarily after one particular oddity.

Dudley and his _gang_ , consisting of Piers Polkiss, Michael Owens, and Zachary Dux, had been chasing Hari in their new game called _Hari Hunting_. The object of the game was to see who could catch Hari first. Whoever did got to either beat him up or throw him off of the top of the monkeys or the jungle-gym.

Piers Polkiss was the thinnest of the lot—lanky and gangly and all limbs. He was blonde, had rat-like features, and _fast_. Hari had to push to be faster, usually running into another child or Michael.

Where Dudley was rather large in one way, Michael was large in the other. At eleven years old the redhead was more muscular than any of the children Hari had so far encountered. His favourite thing to do was to see how many times he had to stomp on Hari's arm before it would bleed.

Zachary was more or less the _groupie_ of the gang. He was shorter than the other, not thin or large in any way, and not very fast. Usually he would just twist up his dog-face into a grin when one of the boys caught Hari, and try to join in then.

Yet out of all of his _friends_ , Dudley seemed to be the one who caught him the most. Hari didn't think any of the others were holding back, since Dudley seemed to enjoy watching them beat up Hari as much as doing it himself. He even got a few licks in for good measure when he felt like it after the _victor_ was done, if it wasn't him.

But Dudley would just... _appear_. He never seemed shocked, always waiting for Hari to realize he had just been chased into him, and _never_ let Hari get away. He would be hiding in dark corners, or in the shade of trees, or even in groups of other children that _Hari_ tried to hide in—just _waiting_. It scared Hari.

It had rained the week before and recess had been cancelled, much to Hari's relief. However, the head teachers thought it _unfair to the children_ that they miss a whole week, and decided to extend recesses of the next week to cover lunch as well, so children could picnic outside. It was on the third day of Dudley's extended _Hari Hunting_ session that _it_ happened.

He was running into the middle of a group of children, desperate to hide if even for a moment. He knew he wouldn't get very long, since Piers was the one after him. But then, when Hari caught sight of the familiar too-sharp nose and malicious grin, Hari disappeared.

It felt like he had been hooked by another one of Vernon's fishhooks, this time behind his navel. It tugged him through a tube that felt like it was squishing Hari through a straw—overly suffocating and terribly claustrophobic. As it ended, Hari chanced a look around. There was no more grass, and he was sitting on something rather grainy and uncomfortable. It looked like a large, odd shape holding lots of crushed up rocks, with metal structures coming out of it like he had seen on some of the roofs in Little Whinging.

The roofs.

He was on the roof.

The middle of the roof, to be exact.

A small _hoo_? left Hari flinching, trying to find the direction of the noise. Almost directly behind him on his right was a small, golden-and-black owl. It's eyes were rather abnormally large even for an owl, and Hari thought that maybe he had shocked the poor thing.

 _'Flitwick?'_ Tom seemed rather shocked.

 _'Flitwick? What's a Flitwick?'_

Tom seemed to think about how he should answer. _'It's him. He is an animagus— **do not** let him know that you know.'_

Hari made a soft hum inside his head before gently reaching his hand out to the bird—well, the man-turned-bird. If he was to pretend that _Flitwick_ really was an owl, then he supposed it was correct to treat him like one.

"Hey, it's okay—I didn't scare you did I?" Hari put on his best remorseful look, which wasn't very difficult since he really did feel bad about scaring the owl. A soft _hoo_ was his reply, along with a ruffle of feathers. Hari took that to mean _no_ , or at least _not too terribly_.

Hari approached the bird with his hand out, keeping it at a low level in case his advances weren't welcome. Flitwick seemed to appraise his hand with a curious look, before dipping his head into the callused palm.

 _'I'm surprised he allowed you to touch him. If I recall correctly, he found the act of being pet demeaning. It's one of the reasons he and Minerva argue so much.'_

 _'Minerva?'_

 _'Another teacher. Her animagus is a cat. When students are—not in a good place—she transforms and allows herself to become a comfort animal.'_

 _'How do you know this?'_

Tom was silent, and Hari might have taken it for embarrassment if not for the icier feeling in his head. A small hoot redirected Hari's attention to Flitwick, and he gently scratched around the bird's feathers. He wondered if this was like preening.

"Where did you come from, bird? I mean, owls don't really go out in the daytime," Hari asked. He didn't really expect an answer, but it was nice to use his voice again. Just as Hari thought, all he received was a ruffle of feathers that displaced his hand in reply.

Hari stayed with Flitwick for the rest of the school day before being fetched by one of the teachers whom had been looking for him.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" Hari asked, anxious that the hope wasn't too obvious in his voice.

Flitwick looked at Hari, directly into his eyes, and dipped his head. Hari took that as a promise.

* * *

Random Note: A bit above 5K


	8. Chapter 8

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains racism, hospitalization, implications of spousal abuse, and somewhat graphic descriptions of child abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

 _:parseltongue: 'mental conversation/thoughts'_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

Abuse scenes are based off of the _A Child Called It_ series and various episodes of _Law and Order: SVU_

* * *

Three Headed Snakes

(Or rather, Useful Information)

Flitwick had made good on his promise. He came nearly every day to visit Hari beginning in the library during the chilly season of late fall. During the first part of recess, Hari would slip out and sprint towards the double doors of the new _Northwest Bridge Upper Elementary Library_. Once inside, he would slink around to the smallest table in the darkest corner that he had made his niche. On his days without Flitwick, Hari would work on his basic education, even humouring when Tom gave him assignments. On his days with Flitwick, Hari would force open the locks of the windows so Flitwick could flutter inside, and he, in turn, would find a comfortable perch.

During their times together, Hari would grab books from all sections—the fourth year section, the fifth year section, the sixth year section, and even the _gifted and talented_ section and read them aloud. He adopted the habit of reading aloud softly to the man-bird, thinking it rude if he simply ignored him the whole time. Flitwick never seemed to mind. If anything, Hari's voice lulled him to sleep.

Hari was never offended by this. In the beginning he may have been a bit perplexed at why the man was spending time with him when he was so tired, but Tom told him that Flitwick probably wasn't falling asleep on purpose.

 _'They're just getting over a war. He was a great part in the Light Resistance, and now is most certainly a great part in helping to rebuild.'_

 _'The Light Resistance? He's a Dark Wizard?'_

 _'I wouldn't be able to tell you if he was—and not all Dark Magia are evil. And no—the Light Resistance was the Resistance of the Dark, led by a mostly unanimously voted Light Leader to fight against the most recent English Dark Lord.'_

So Hari was content to allow Flitwick to curl his beak to his fluffy chest and go to sleep. When he did, Hari would continue reading, just in case Flitwick woke. The only day he ever dared to wake Flitwick was when he was reading the _Chronicles of Narnia_ and found a name that was safe to call Flitwick instead of simply 'hey you,' or 'bird.'

"Hey bird—wha'd'ya think of _Glim_?"

Flitwick merely fluffed his feathers and craned his head towards Hari.

Hari huffed. "Well, it's better than just _bird_."

Flitwick let out a small coo and clicked his beak together before beginning to preen under his wings. From then on, Hari referred to Flitwick as _Glim_. It made him feel like he had an actual friend instead of just talking to a bird.

During the late fall and early winter of 1990, Hari and now _Glim_ stayed within the solitude of their corner, away from prying eyes. From September to November, Hari had read everything from _Narnia_ to its fanfiction the _Golden Compass_. The first week of December, Hari had gone without reading anything. Instead, he spent his time doodling in the corners of books, which earned him a mental tirade from Tom and a three-quarter lidded glare from Glim.

"I've got to go home for Christmas, y'know." Hari stated needlessly. "I probably won't be back until half-January...I'm usually not."

He fit his chin into the crook between the flat of his palm and the heel of his hand and effectively ignored the hoots from the tiny owl. He told himself he only imagined how concerned they sounded.

"It's almost her birthday, y'know? Eunice?" Hari had seldom spoke of Mildred and Eunice—only of the good times they had spent together. The small window they all three had together made for very few stories, but for very good memories.

"She's turning five. She's so big now...And Mildred! She's two already. She said her first word— _no_. It was funny." A sad smile graced his face. Hari didn't stop the tears that leaked from his eyes and plopped onto the rough sketches of three smiley-faced children below. His smile began to wobble when he heard the clicking of talons, and dropped completely into choking sobs when he felt soft feathers press close against him.

Hari missed the rest of class that day, and true to his word he was pulled early for Christmas break and didn't return till late January.

* * *

This year, Eunice's birthday would now be carefully monitored by Petunia. Just days after the beginning of Christmas break Vernon had made her feel ashamed of herself for her _failure_ of keeping Eunice away from it. He had screamed at her so loudly that Hari could feel his cupboard walls vibrating about how Petunia had entrusted Mildred within its care. The morning after, Petunia had come out with bruises around her neck and spotting around her arms. Vernon carried deep scratches that were attempted to be covered with gauze and bandages in much the same areas.

Naturally, Petunia blamed Hari. She had forced him to play her bathtub game again, and would come in at random intervals to dunk his head down under the water and hold it there. Every time he drew blood when he clawed at her hand, he was wretched up and slammed back against the floor of the tub. It took an hour and a half before she allowed him up, and Hari whispered out _thank you thank you thank you_ until he noticed that his clothes and his glasses were nowhere to be found.

"Wh-where—where are my clothes, m-ma'am?" Hari rarely ever directly addressed any of the elder Dursleys, but he was _cold_ and the heat wasn't on in this part of the house, and he didn't dare use his magic when Petunia was so near.

Petunia didn't answer him. Instead she wrapped her bony fingers around his wrist and tugged him through the house. Hari wrapped his free arm around his shoulder and tried to warm himself up. It was a futile attempt, since Petunia threw him out the back door into the snow and slammed the sliding door shut.

Immediately Hari's shivering increased tenfold. His hands were planted on the deck through the snow that cradled up half his body. He knew he wouldn't last long, so he would have to risk it.

 _":Zestos:."_

Warmth crept up through Hari's form from the inside out. The heating charm provided sweet relief from the cold nearly blanketing him and from the snow that was beginning to fall outside. Snow turned to mush around his body due to his body heat, yet Hari shivered still. He was _still cold_ and he didn't understand why.

 _'A heating charm would hardly be adequate dry, with clothing. You are wet and naked.'_ Tom's voice was dry, but Hari could tell that he was concerned. Hari knew he was right; even when Hari covered with his clothes and cast heating charms on them the chill in his cupboard never quite left.

In Hari's eyes, he was left with one option. He focused on the stars in his vision til they spiderwebbed and the third eye opened up. Once again, he sought out the world of multi-coloured silks and her voice.

 _"Please—please I need help again."_

Instantly he could feel the consciousness of the silks turn to him. They wrapped around him like a gentle, large hand holding him, before releasing him to swirl just in front of his face.

 _"Oh child, my child, what have they done to you?"_

Three, serpentine heads appeared from the silks—one a smooth, soft yellow with a small neck, one a larger, persimmon-coloured with round features, and the last a mix of the red-blacks that made Hari think of Tom's very first form.

 _"My child, my child, do not fret. Your time is almost done here."_ The soft orange snake spoke with the voice of Hari's dreams—of _Lily_.

 _"What pain awaits you, but do not fret, my child. We are here. I am here."_ The darkest one, _Ms. Figg_ , seemed sad as she looked at him.

The third snake head only stared at him, swaying her head from side to side and dipping it in the direction she was going. She wasn't as clear as the other two; slightly opaque and cloud looking. Her tongue stuck out at him, at the ends of her mouth curled in a definitely _un-reptilian_ smile.

 _"Is—is she—are you okay?"_ Hari pointed towards the yellow snake. He had a feeling that they all were part of the same Goddess, so it made sense that the other two snakes—or pieces—would know.

A hissing laugh was his answer that seemed to resonate from _around_ the yellow snake. _"You haven't met me yet, my child."_ Her voice was velvet and dreamlike.

Hadn't met her yet? He was pretty sure that this was the second meeting of the Goddess...but then again, both voices seemed to have been people he knew…

 _"Who are you?"_

 _"I am us, and we are the Mother."_

Hari huffed a bit, much to the giggling hisses of the snakes. _'That didn't really answer anything,'_ Hari thought, before remembering that Tom was not a part of him here. Before he could ask another question he was engulfed in a warm, white silk. The metaphysical chill that continued to cling to his body began to dissipate, and Hari could comfortably breathe without feeling like he had just sucked in ice.

 _"Thank you."_ Hari lowered his gaze to his feet and tried to bow, feeling a bit ridiculous attempting it starkers.

 _"No need to thank me, my child. For you will suffer a great pain at the hands of your peoples, and at the hands of mine. I shall help you, just as you shall help me, my child, my Champion, my Priest."_

The snakes merged together into one great beast. It would have resembled a lizard, with the serpentine body and the four legs that formed from silks, if not for how large and thick they were. It looked more like a _dog_ than a lizard, if Hari looked past the whip-like tail, the flat, snake-shaped head, and the glimmering scales that shone in all shades the three had, shining like _fire_. It almost looked like a dragon from the books Hari had read, only lacking the great wings and spikes.

 _"Now go, child. For I fear that if you do not wake in your world, you may forever find yourself in mine."_

The beast laid what served as the bridge of its muzzle against Hari's chest and gently pushed his out of the entrance world.

When Hari awoke, he was in a hospital, surrounded by people in white coats talking too fast for him to understand. He glanced to his sides and saw that his arms were hooked up to several machines, and that he was apparently tucked tightly into the hospital bed. He heard shrieking about how he's awake! but didn't take too much into it. Instead, he looked at the small face pressed against the glass door, leaving tear streaks and puffs of breath against it. Brown curls were the last thing he saw before he fell back into unconsciousness, but this time, thankfully, in his own world.

* * *

The first thing Hari thought of when he awake back in the hospital room was a word that Ms. Figg would not of approved of him knowing. The second thought that came to Hari's mind was how much trouble he was going to be in for drawing attention to himself, let alone _medical_ attention. Hari didn't even want to think about what would happen when the Dursleys got the bill.

He groaned and felt a cool hand press against his forehead.

"—ri?" He could barely make out the voice that trembled with the cool drops landing on his face. He felt a thumb wipe the wetness away, a dull, short nail catching on his cheek. It wasn't Petunia then; not that Hari thought it had been in the first place.

"Hari?" The voice, definitely female, tried again. "Hari, are you awake? How are you feeling, dear?"

 _Dear_. Only one person called him that.

"M' Fi'?" He tried to call out her name, but the words could barely form past his lips. He seemed correct in his assessment, at least, because more of what he assumed were tears dripped onto his face before being wiped away by a careful hand. The same hand that was running through his hair. Only Ms. Figg knew that Hari liked that.

"Yes, dear, it's Ms. Figg, I'm here," She hurried to assure him, alternating between whispering that he was going to be fine and that how _dare_ the Dursleys leave him outside, despite what they told. At Hari's inquisition, Ms. Figg told him that apparently Petunia had left him out there for well over an hour. Eunice had been the one to call Ms. Figg from the _Little Whinging's Phone Book_ , and Ms. Figg had called the paramedics. Petunia had caught Eunice on the phone and dragged Hari inside, wrapping him hurriedly in half-wet towels that had been soaked in hot water and throwing him in a spare bedroom. Her explanation to the paramedics included Hari throwing a tantrum, and a brief, _"accidental"_ summary of his defiant behavior in both school and at Number Four.

Since the doctors had no reason to suspect child abuse, and had teachers to corroborate the Dursleys story, Hari was still entrusted in their care. The only way Ms. Figg had been allowed to visit was by threatening to tell the authorities the truth. When Hari asked why she hadn't in the first place, she merely told him that _Dumbledore would overrule her_ and place him back. If anything, he would be in even more trouble for leaving. That bit had caused her great sniffles that didn't subside for several minutes, and Hari was unable to get anything else out of her for the rest of her visit.

She was his only visitor during his stay, which lasted from December 11th to the 16th. After he was discharged into the _safe_ hands of the Dursleys, he was put immediately to work on Eunice's birthday. This year she wanted a _horse_ theme. It made Hari feel happy knowing that he may have influenced why.

Replacing the pink ribbons of last year would now be braided ropes tied carefully into knots. Instead of sparkling, pink garlands there would now be horseshoes chained together and hung from the light fixtures. The goody bags were decorated as black "villain" and white "sheriff" cowboy hats, with oatmeal and chocolate chip treats inside. In place of pink velvet cake would now be something called derby cake—chocolate and whip cream and fruit all baked into one cake—in the shape of a large rectangle Hari was ordered to decorate like the races.

It wasn't as bad as last year, for now it meant something instead of Eunice trying to look like the animated lady on the telly. Hari still seethed when he thought about how Petunia had told Eunice that she wished Eunice looked more like the _Barbie_ girl. But now there was no more needless making up. There was only happiness, and if a bit of sadness as well, for the memories that the horse theme brought to both Hari and Eunice's mind.

He was even ordered to set up the back yard for horse games, which would consist of the children riding stick horses over "obstacle courses" Hari swore Petunia designed just to make it harder. Stepping outside in the snow, even though he was clothed, set him back to nearly freezing to death. It took everything Hari had not to panic, forcing himself to walk out, start a fire in the firepit, and begin shoveling snow away. Every brush of harsh wind had him anxiously switching his gaze over to the sliding back door, forcing his magic to push it open just to make sure it wasn't locked.

He knew that this was light punishment, and was terrified of what could possibly be next. He wouldn't find out for a while.

While Eunice's birthday went off without a hitch, Hari was too busy worrying about what the Dursleys could have planned. Was he going to be frozen again? Put in the bath? Starved? Beaten? Possibilities swirled throughout his mind for days. On December 29th, Hari got his answer.

He had been locked in his cupboard straight from the moment he had finished preparing for Eunice's party. He wasn't to be let out, and once again relied on Tom to keep him healthy, less hungry, and somewhat clean. Then Petunia had unlocked his cupboard terrifyingly slow, the door creaking open to reveal her completely devoid of emotion. She wasn't angry, or snide, or even smiling _that_ smile. Somehow, it scared Hari all the more.

She had crooked her finger at him, indicating Hari to follow her. Willessly, Hari obeyed. The walked to the kitchen, shocking a rather filthy Dudley, where Petunia had ordered Hari's shirt off. This confused Hari, since she usually hated seeing any part of him, let alone _more_ of him. The puzzle pieces began to fit together when she turned on the top of the gas stove. Clutching his shirt to his chest, Hari began to back away. Petunia seemed unperturbed.

"You know," she began. "I read the other day that a mother had put her child up on the stove for misbehaving. The papers called her all sorts of nasty names, but she was a brilliant woman. She got the brat to _behave_. I just don't see why you can't _behave_ and be a good boy, _darling_."

She turned, a sickening parody of a grin beginning to split her mouth. Dudley called out a soft, scared _"mum?"_ only to be ignored. Small, blue-orange flames rose behind her and Hari knew he was in hell.

When his back hit the cool expanse of the fridge, Hari turned to bolt away. If he could run fast enough then maybe, _just maybe_ , he could make it to Ms. Figg's without Petunia catching him. His hopes of escape shattered when he was caught by the arm before he could lift a foot in the other direction.

Petunia twisted his arm back behind his body and yanked him over to the stove. Hari could feel the flames beginning to lick at the baby-fine hairs along his arm and desperately jerked his body away. It only earned him a backhanded slap to the face and a rather vicious slamming of his arm onto the lit gas-plate of the stove.

Hari _screamed_. He screamed at he felt the flesh of his arms being pulled to tightly and burned away, crackling like shattered glass. When Petunia urged him further over the stove, Hari lashed out. His magic _slammed_ against her, sending Petunia thrashing against the flames and Hari backwards against the tile.

If Hari had screamed, Petunia _wailed_. She flung herself back as soon as she could, but the damage was done. Her once shoulder-length, brown hair she had been so proud of was now sizzling at varying lengths and thicknesses around her ears. Her face that had been dyed from years of overused makeup was a shining red colour that looked raw, mimicked in patterns across her neck and arms.

Tears streamed down the two children's faces, both for different reasons. As Hari tried to muffle his cries, Dudley openly sobbed and sought along the kitchen counter for the home phone. The two youngest Dursley children came running into the kitchen, shrieking at the bodies on the floor. While Mildred sat and began bawling, Eunice ran over to Hari and fisted her tiny hands in the material of his pants, begging him to be okay. Blue light ran over Hari's burns, _soft_ and _new_ , and began to shakily repair the damage that had been done.

Hari merely let a few more tears leak out. This was his punishment for being in the hospital, what was going to happen now that he had sent _Petunia_ to the hospital?

* * *

Turns out, _nothing_ would be done to Hari now that Petunia was in the hospital. Doctors had obviously become suspicious when Hari came back with _second degree burns_ along his right arm, especially when Petunia had come along with varying degree burns in a number of places. So, Hari was to be removed to a foster home for a few months until Child Services could verify that the Dursley's were either abusive or Hari was simply a delinquent.

Once again, Ms. Figg had been the very first visitor in Hari's room, apart now from Eunice and Mildred when they could sneak in and from Hari's caseworker. She had offered to become Hari's foster mother, and a tearful Hari told her that he would _love_ to have Ms. Figg as a mother. Ms. Figg hadn't corrected him.

That was how a rather determined Ms. Figg waltzed up to Hari's caseworker and demanded that she be given the information on how to become a foster mother; specifically _Hari's_ foster mother. Hari's caseworker, a rather tall lady with long, black hair named _Jamie Kent_ , had practically interrogated Ms. Figg about her motives. When Hari had assured Mrs. Kent about Ms. Figg with a _tiny_ bit of persuasion magic, Mrs. Kent said that she would see if she could pull a few strings since _Miss Arabella_ was such a competent caretaker.

Less than two weeks later, one Arabella Urial Figgueroa was given custody was one Hari James Potter.

Hari had been simultaneously filled with excitement and anxiety at the prospect of moving in with Ms. Figg. His room had been left mostly the same, with the cot being taken out and replaced with a small, horizontal bookshelf. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that most of the books on the shelf were _magical_ , a mix of educational and children's picture books. His desk had been replaced with a larger one, complete with a mini shelving and drawer unit that Hari felt slightly guilty about having. Really, Hari felt guilty about having _everything_ in the room—it had to of cost Ms. Figg a lot of money, and Hari didn't have near enough to pay her back. So, Hari asked her what was expected of him to pay off his debt.

"Whatever do you mean, dear?" Ms. Figg seemed rather confused, more so than Hari felt.

"My _debt_ , Ms. Figg, for making you spend money on me."

Ms. Figg seemed to gain a sudden _click_ of clarity. "Well, I suppose if you wanted to, you could let me be your teacher?"

"My teacher?" Hari blinked owlishly.

Ms. Figg only smiled. "Yes, your teacher. You see, I haven't had a child to care for— _long term_ ," she gave a rather pointed look at Hari. "In quite a while. Cristiano was our— _my_ —only son, and he was…..before…..He never got to have children."

Ms. Figg sniffled. Hari patted her hand. He knew it was hard for her to talk about her son and what happened.

"Of course! I would love to learn from you, Ms. Figg." Hari rushed out, linking their fingers together.

"You may call me Arabella, or whatever you please, Hari." She smiled at him. "Now, I happen to know that your closet is _dreadfully_ empty, so what do you say about going on a little trip?"

Despite Hari's quiet protests, Ms. Figg had led him to her _purple_ Audi Quattro and even let him sit in the front. She drove him to _South Wright Square_ and they spent the rest of the day visiting various outlet malls located there. By the time they returned, Ms. Figg's trunk, backseat, and even the foot space under Hari was full of bulging bags of clothes, shoes, and school supplies. She had helped him hang them up and sort through his shoes, and presented him with a brand new backpack that she encouraged him to take to school on Monday.

For the first time in a long while, Hari went to school _excited_. He began excelling in his classes, despite his still-healing injury, and met up with Glim in the library for reading sessions during their usual times. Even Dudley and his gang were leaving him alone, and Hari felt _fantastic_. He was gaining weight by being allowed to eat as much as he wanted during meal times, and no longer felt constantly light headed or sick to his stomach.

He finished school with high _Cs_ , and even a few low _Bs_ , Something he had shamefully presented to Ms. Figg. She had merely smiled _her_ smile at him and told him that he must be extremely smart to have pulled up his grades so high in such a small amount of time. She had a way of making Hari feel proud of himself and forget that he _"shouldn't be"_. On the first Sunday of summer break Ms. Figg burst into his room at an hour she usually claimed was _simply ungodly_ , announcing that they were to go to on a very special visit that day.

She helped Hari pick out an appropriate outfit and brushed his tangled hair into a somewhat manageable mane that brushed his shoulders. She had also _baked_ , for some unknown reason. When Hari inquired about the small cookies and treats, she simply smiled—not _her_ smile—at them.

"We're going to the Wizarding world today, to visit my son."

 _Cristiano_. From what Hari had been told and had gathered himself, Cristiano was a permanent resident of _St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_ , and had no hope of recovering.

"I also thought we may stop by at Diagon Alley, to get you a few trinkets."

 _Diagon Alley_. He had heard of it from Tom, and the off-handed mentionings from Ms. Figg. It was supposed to be one of the branches of the main English Wizarding community, serving mostly as a school supply shopping outlet with the odd toystore here and there. It was served as only one of many alleys that tied to Akadem Alley, or Akadem Central, which Ms. Figg said held the British Wizarding _Ministry_. Had thought that must have made it rather important, but Tom laughed in his head and made snide comments about how something called _Gringotts_ and _Ollivanders_ were more important on their own than the entirety of the Ministry put together.

All the talk of magical Alleys and this magic shop or that one had Hari very excited at the prospect of how exactly they would _get_ there. All sorts of ideas ran through his mind—from flying like _Mary Poppins_ to riding a dragon! He was very confused when instead, Ms. Figg simply pulled out her very purple car and encouraged him to get in.

Thus, now that Hari's daydreams of riding a dragon had been inadvertently crushed, Hari began new daydreams. Ones that involved flying cars to teleporting cars to even cars that went faster than Hari could see! He wondered what they would arrive at—maybe a castle! Like Hogwarts, or maybe a dragon's keep! Or maybe they would find a secret, underground club of witches and wizards—

They were at a gardening store. A simple, redbrick department store that looked as if it had seen better days. The faded, peeling label on top labeled it _Sun Stop_ , and under the lime green awning was a bubbly young woman greeting people and switching which doors she was opening for them.

Ms. Figg grasped his hand and led him over to the practically bouncing brunette.

"Ms. Figg, welcome back! How can we help you today?"

She wore a shiny badge that switched between a plough crossing a strange looking plant and a long, thin stick crossing a bone when the sun caught off of it. Ms. Figg smiled at her and pulled her into a hug, which the girl accepted.

"Thank you, Ms. Tuckett; what am I ever here for? Though I suppose a garden would be nice…" Ms. Figg trailed off in thought, releasing _Ms. Tuckett_. Ms. Tuckett giggled and pulled a silver pin from her pocket, fastening it on Ms. Figg's collar.

"Of course, Cristiano will be delighted to see you. I heard he was transferred to the South Wing, so he must be doing better!" The tiny woman gave an encouraging grin to the duo and turned her attentions on Hari, "And who's this little cutiepie?"

Before Ms. Figg could answer, Hari gave a shy smile and piped up. "My name is Hari Potter, ma'am."

He watched Ms. Tuckett's smile curve down and fall, her entire face curling in on itself in barely-hidden disgust. "Oh... _Potter_... " She knew which Potter. _Everyone_ knew which Potter Hari was. The son of the high-ranking Death Eater, James Potter, who betrayed the Light and got over two-hundred people killed, including his own wife and the wife of one of his _best friends_.

She deposited another silver pin into Ms. Figg's hand and dutifully ignored the small boy, even under the disapproving glare of Ms. Figg. The younger woman simply sniffed disdainfully when the elder woman clipped the pin to Hari's soft blue button up. Ms. Figg slid her hand into Hari's and tugged him along through the left door, which was _not_ being held open for them, he noticed. Though Hari didn't pay too much attention to Ms. Tuckett once they were inside, because even though the outside was a crumbling, peeling chain-link store, the inside was truly _magical_.

Luminescent, pale lavender tiles covered the floors with deep violet-red wallpaper across the walls that could be seen. There were cherry-wood arches and furniture, covered with, and accentuated by, long drapes of a strange looking sage that Hari had never seen before. Pots of lavender hung from the ceilings, sat on the floor, and stayed suspended against the walls, the scent thick in the air. In place of electric lights were large windows that had different sceneries playing out in each one—a Saharan desert, a Brazilian rainforest, an Arctic penguin group, and an underwater waterfall. Next to each window was a strange, green-copper looking dial, each arrow pointing at what Hari thought could be a different station, like a Muggle radio.

And the _people_. Witches and Wizards ran around in robes of varying shades of vibrant greens with lavender or grey-white undertones. Shouts of _Healer_ so-and-so! and _Mediwizard_! or _Mediwitch_! so-and-so, and Hari marveled at the hustle of the hospital.

Ms. Figg tugged him into a large _elevator_ , something Hari wouldn't have expected in a magical building, and pressed the number _5_. Before the door shut, two more people got on in lime green robes. Ms. Figg told him that they were full-fledged _Healers_. She wrapped her arm around him and used the other to hold a hardy grip on the handle on the wall, and Hari only understood why when they lurched off at a speed that made Hari's stomach drop.

The male Healer got off at the third floor, the elevator shooting forward to the _North Wing_ , and then backwards and to the left before returning on it's dizzying speed upwards. Ms. Figg and Hari were deposited in the _West Wing Entrance_ and barely had enough time to step out of what Hari classified as a death trap before it shot off again, the lady inside looking completely unperturbed.

The fifth floor was quite different than the first; instead of tile that reminded Hari of light purple starbursts, there was deep red hardwood. Replacing the near maroon colour of the walls was a very muted tea-brown that made Hari feel very calm, especially with the same lavender plants potted along the floor. Along with them sat several other plants that Hari had no names for, but came in a variety of dazzling shades that made Hari's eyes sparkle.

"This way, deary," Ms. Figg tittered,tugging him back along a hallway behind the elevator. Her heels clicked along the wood in tandem with the Mediwitches' and wizards' on the floor, something that grated on Hari's sensitive ears. They eventually came to a sort of lobby, complete with plush couches on top of a very soft-looking rug, and dozens of fireplaces lining the walls. Hari thought that maybe they had a bit too many fire pits, until he witnessed Magia _popping out of them_ , followed by puffs of green fire.

 _'They're flooing. The Floo is a wizarding transportation system setup in fireplaces. Quite messy if you ask me.'_ Tom sniffed out a _'hmph'_ at the sight of people banishing soot and ash from their clothing. Hari thought of the day he found Ms. Figg in such a state, and wondered if that was what she had been doing herself.

"Ms. Figg?" He tugged gently on her hand when they rounded the corner to Hallway _8-F_. She let out a small hum and Hari decided it was safe to continue with his questions; after all, Ms. Figg hadn't ever punished him before. "Why didn't we come out of the fireplace?" He didn't think he should mention the world _floo_ , since his foster mother would then wonder where he got it from, and Hari didn't particularly feel like lying to her.

"The firepla—oh! You mean the floo, darling." Hari struggled not to flinch at the endearment, worrying the skin of his cheek between his teeth. "You can only floo one at a time, and—well with your family's reputation and your own inexperience, I didn't want to risk you getting lost." She pretended not to see Hari's face fall, but she did slip her hand out from his and wrap her arm around his small shoulders instead.

It didn't take long after for them to reach a plain, red wooden door marked _Figgueroa_. Ms. Figg drew in a deep breath and turned a watery smile to Hari.

"Now, I—I know it'll—it'll be shocking for you to see—well for you to see him. He can't help it."

Hari squared his shoulders, but it wasn't enough for what met him inside. He had expected Cristiano to of looked normal, just been mentally unable to take care of himself, or perhaps be in a coma. This was not so. Pacing across the room was a strange, monstrous _creature_ that looked half burned and half rotten. Permanently purpling lay on unnaturally green-brown skin that was stretched too tight over a skeletal figure, rising and falling with crude surgical-looking scars all over what body it had.

 _This was Cristiano_.

It— _he_ —turned to them, and Hari backed away behind Ms. Figg's skirt. Cristiano only had one arm, his left, with barely any fingers left. Those that resided were in bits and pieces. His right side didn't even have a shoulder—a large dip curving his body where the appendage and much more was obviously missing. His lips and nose were _gone_ , and his eyes were a milky white that Hari would have attributed to blindness if not for the way that Cristiano seemed acutely aware of where everyone and everything stood in the room.

" _Meu filho_ , look at you! Walking all by yourself!" Ms. Figg seemed proud and sad at the same time, and urged Hari to sit in one of the visitor's chairs with her. Cristiano sat too, on his bed, curled up in the corner with his knees drawn to his chest. Hari found this to be very familiar to him, and realized why; Hari adopted this look when he was afraid. Then another light bulb went off—Cristiano was afraid. Cristiano was afraid of _Hari_.

" _Meu filho_ , I brought you a friend. This is Hari, and he's very excited to meet you."

Cristiano let out what should have been a low keening noise, but came out raspy and broken. Hari reached out with his magic, and was surprised when he was hit full front with an onslaught of _'Receoso receoso receoso receoso.'_

Hari thought Tom was the only one who could talk inside Hari's head.

 _'Legilimency makes it easier to gain access to someone's thoughts. Especially someone who is apparently a Legilimens as well. It becomes a sort of telepathy.'_ Tom actually seemed impressed that Cristiano could react with Hari's magic in such a way. _'You could see if he's coherent, if you wanted.'_ Tom tried to shrug it off, but Hari knew that it was a suggestion that would most likely benefit the three _physical_ beings in the room.

Hari reached out again to Cristiano. His magic had a _shattered_ feeling. Like a puzzle that had been scattered with too many pieces lost.

 _'Cristiano, can you hear me?'_

Hari felt shock through the temporary bond, laced with the _tiniest_ tinge of hope.

 _'Who who who who who?'_

The same echoes rang throughout his mind, repeating upon themselves and grating through Hari's ears. Ms. Figg didn't seem to notice a change in her son's demeanour, simply pulled out the cookies from her bag and began pulling the plastic wrap off of them.

 _'I'm Hari.'_

All the shards of Cristiano's magic aimed themselves at Hari, and even Ms. Figg noticed when Cristiano began attempted to scream. His hand tried to claw along the bumps of his head as cracked, hoarse noises came from his mouth. His mind filled with tangles of _Potter_ and _getoutgetoutgetout_ , thoughts knotting themselves together with the pain that racked his body. Hari knew it probably was a bad idea to reach out and touch Cristiano, so he did the next best thing. Hari sent out healing magic, magic full of memories, and magic meant to calm Cristiano.

The effect was almost instant. His hand came down from trying to scratch at his head, the pained near-silent screams subsided, and Cristiano stopped rocking. He started _humming_. It was difficult for him, without proper lips, but sure enough small buzzes that resembled music came from where they would have been.

 _'I'm here with your Mum. She...she misses you.'_

Ms. Figg was crying, petting the blankets near her son, to hesitant to reach out to him in case he lashed out.

 _'Mamãe?'_

Cristiano had the ability to recognize that people were in his room, but had no ability to associate who they were based on his memories of before his injury. So, while he could somewhat remember his mother, he hadn't known it was her that was visiting him; only that the same woman visited him mostly the same days at the same time. At the mention of his mother, his white eyes began to water, and Ms. Figg began sobbing hopelessly. She couldn't understand what was wrong.

 _'Eu amo mamãe.'_

Hari had a feeling that that probably meant something along the lines of I love you, and desperately wanted to tell Ms. Figg. But telling her would mean revealing that he had been communicating with Cristiano...and telling her how he had known to do so…

But she sounded _so sad_.

"Ms—Ms. Figg?"

If she heard him, she made no indications. Tears rolled down her face as he clutched the covers around her son, whispering in the language Cristiano spoke and Hari didn't understand.

"Ms. Figg? Cristiano—um—he says that—he says he loves you."

Ms. Figg's gaze snapped up to him. "Don't you _dare_ , Hari. Don't you _dare_ say something like that— _especially_ like that—-to me."

"N-no really, Ms. Figg—"

"How _dare_ you—"

"He called you _mamãe_? _Eu amo mamãe_?"

Ms. Figg stopped. Large, pregnant tears rolled slowly down her face. Hari didn't know Portuguese. There was no possible way for him to know Portuguese, despite the mangled mispronunciation...So that meant— _that meant_...

She let out a great sob and risked grasping her son's hand. Cristiano flinched heavily, but allowed himself to be pulled up into his mother's arms. The same phrase kept repeating in his head, even as unintelligible gurgles spilled from his mouth. His own hand searched wildly until it found Hari's smaller one, and Cristiano held tightly. No words needed to be exchanged between the trio—Hari knew what it meant.

Hari and Ms. Figg didn't quite make it to Diagon Alley that day. However, Hari had found something better than a magical toy or trinket;

Hari had found a brother.

* * *

Random Note: longest chapter, just about at 7K!

Trying to italicize less, but I'n simply copying from my Docs, my bros.

Translations from Google:  
 _Meu Filho_ —My Son

 _Receoso_ —Afraid

Eu Amo Mamãe—I love mother/i love you mother/ _I love mommy_

Mamãe—Mother/Mom/ _Mommy_

If anyone speaks Portuguese and spots a mistake _(which there probably will be)_ , please let me know!

Original Spells:  
 _Zestos_ —a weak heating charm, usually used for clothing as it heats the most outer layer of something _(in this case, it wouldn't actually warm Hari up, just create a small, somewhat pleasant warmth surrounding him. As if you had heated up bread or something for a short period_ — _the crust would be done, but the bread itself would mostly still be cold)_


	9. Chapter 9

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains potentially disturbing imagery. Please read at your own discretion.

Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)

 _:parseltongue: 'mental conversation/thoughts'_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

Abuse scenes are based off of the _A Child Called It_ series and various episodes of _Law and Order: SVU_

* * *

A Will and a Way

(Or rather, To the Cupboard Under the Stairs)

Hari's eleventh summer had been bittersweet. After his revelation with Cristiano's only means of communication, Ms. Figg had gone straight to the lead Healer and requested a MindMender. She claimed that her _nephew_ Hari was an accidental Legilimens, and that he had stumbled into Cristiano's mind. It wasn't exactly a common practice, but it wasn't impossible either. The only problem was that Legilimens MindMenders were hard to come by in English wizarding community after their war, and none were too keen on _portkeying_ out to the United Kingdom.

Cristiano's healing was put on hold until they could find someone qualified for his particular situation with enough time to dedicate to the patient. It would be a long wait, but Hari and Ms. Figg had hope.

Even with Cristiano's new means of communication, he was still wary of talking too long with Hari. He swapped between short, choppy sentences that gave Hari the impression he was hyper-paranoid, and forgetting who Hari was _(aside from the fact he was most definitely a Potter)_ , and screaming for the near entirety of Hari and Ms. Figg's visits.

The latter times were becoming less and less as Ms. Figg took Hari along to visit Cristiano more frequently, for as long as the Mediwitches would allow them to stay. Hari made an attempt to seep some of his magic into Cristiano's mind, beginning to fill in the cracks of what use to hold it together. He hadn't felt that he made much progress in the few weeks he had been able to access Cristiano's mind, it was becoming more obvious in the way he began conversing, and reached out to take hold of his mother's hand each time she entered.

Hari held out hopes that soon he could make Cristiano's constant shiverings cease, and perhaps then he could _write_.

Currently he was laying in his bed, waiting for Ms. Figg to reappear from the fireplace, conversing exactly how to go about mending a mind with Tom.

 _'There shouldn't be in pieces "missing", as you say, merely buried in the subconscious. You won't be able to dig them out with your level of Legilimency yet, at least not without driving yourself completely insane, or forcing Mr. Figgueroa into an emptier shell than what he was.'_

Well, that was…..most of his options off the table, really. Hari didn't necessarily like forcing his way into other's heads, especially when it was easy, but he knew the boon outweighed the moral consequences.

However, if he couldn't simply force the pieces back into place, how was he supposed to heal Cristiano?

A mental tongue flicked against the inside of his brow. _'If you continue as you are, little by little, some will eventually return on their own. Some are better remaining gone.'_

Hari huffed and buried his face into the soft mismatched pillows that littered his bed. Ms. Figg had early on discovered Hari's affection for fluffy pillows and soft blankets, and had begun swarming him with them, much to his own embarrassment.

 _'Either way, you shouldn't be focusing on such matters. Today is a special day, is it not?'_ Tom's voice turned proud, soft scales expanding out to 'hug' Hari.

He was right—today Hari was eleven, and more excited than he had ever been. Tom had been telling him tales of Hogwarts, and how Hari was sure to receive his letter at midnight. Surprisingly, Tom had even regaled Hari with stories of his _own_ Hogwarts letter and his time there _(mostly about idiotic students and incompetent teachers, and how he didn't expect Dumbledore to be any better judge of character than Tom's own Headmaster, Armando Dippet)_.

 _'Dumbledore was the reason I was allowed to come to power, you know.'_

It still disturbed Hari to think of his Tom being one with the Dark Lord Voldemort, and had said so on an occasion. All that had earned him was a lecture on how disassociating the two would cause Hari more harm than anything. That it was important Hari remember that Tom _was_ Voldemort, but no longer _is_ , instead of imagining the two as different entities.

 _'Um, how?'_

 _'I released a juvenile Basilisk into the plumbing system.'_ He said matter-of-factly, as if that was supposed to make any sense to Hari.

 _'A….a what?'_

 _'A Basilisk. They're magical creatures that resemble snakes. They're able to understand parseltongue, so it was fairly easy to control it.'_

And again, Hari had more questions than answers. He wasn't _incompetent_ , he figured if a Basilisk was a great snake and Tom could speak to it like Hari spoke to him and to the garden snakes, then Parseltongue must be the language they spoke.

 _'Dumbledore had been suspicious of me from the minute we met, and I'm fairly sure he knew I was breeding Basilisks. He never went to the headmaster, however, and a classmate of mine died as a result. I believe she's still there.'_ His tongue flicked out absently, as if the thought had just occurred to him. but at least he sounded ashamed.

 _'And he never….did anything?'_

 _'I suppose he tried, but in the end I managed to pin the blame on another classmate of mine. It was fairly easy, since he was half-giant with a history of smuggling in dangerous creatures. It….I hadn't released her on purpose, and I wish it hadn't ended up being Rubeus who took the blame.'_

 _'A half-giant?'_ In passing, Tom had mentioned magical beings Hari could only recognize form the footnotes in Ms. Figg's textbooks. Despite them being more-or-less human, Hari had been under the impression that they couldn't…..well…..have children with others outside their race.

 _'Rubeus Hagrid. We were something akin to…..friends in my time. Views upon magical non-humans and half-humans were barbaric at best.'_

 _'Barbaric?'_

Hari could feel the swell of magic against the forefront of his mind, the telltale sign that Tom was about to show him something, before they were interrupted by the choking poofs of the floo. Normally, it wouldn't of worried Hari since he was expecting Ms. Figg to arrive much the same way she had left. It wouldn't of worried Hari if he hadn't of heard more than a handful of sputters from the fireplace, and more than one set of feet against Ms. Figg's tile.

 _"Ouh! I can't wait to meet the little bugger!"_

 _"Nymphadora!"_

 _"Don't call me—"_

He recognized Ms. Figg's voice, but the other, higher-pitch mingled with at least three other sets of voices, trying not to shout over the continued floo noises. Panic settled in, his muscles clenching and his hand grasping at the blankets underneath him. There wasn't a window in the room, but Hari knew that if he wanted to he could force his way out.

 _"Now, now! You'll scare the poor dear!"_

That voice reminded him of Ms. Figg, but it sounded heavier and deeper, like the librarian from his school.

 _"You all finish setting up and I'll go get him."_

It was of little comfort to hear Ms. Figg again when there were so many strangers in the house. Would she keep him safe?

 _Of course she would._

He felt a bit ashamed of himself thinking otherwise, but didn't have long before her footsteps were outside his door and his door was knocked on and creaking open. All the tension melted from his body the minute he spotted her, leaving confusion in his wake. Usually Ms. Figg wore loose shirts and long-flowing skirts and the godforsaken sandals Hari couldn't bring himself to tell Ms. Figg he hated when she asked him about them. Instead, she was wearing a beautiful honey-gold pantsuit and brown flats that had tiny heels. She had done up her makeup like she did when she took Hari out, and had curled her hair and allowed it to fall freely around her shoulders.

"Happy birthday, dearie. I've got a bit of a surprise for you outside, but I'm afraid you're going to have to get dressed first." Her tone was teasing and she smiled at the way Hari suddenly seemed very shy in his pajamas.

"I—I don't know what to wear."

"Don't fret, I'll help you pick something out." She sounded _entirely_ too excited about something for Hari's comfort as she walked over to his dresser drawers and began rifling through the button-ups she had insisted on buying him. She settled on a soft teal shirt with black slacks and waived off his question about shoes. "You won't have to worry about that until tomorrow, darling. Mediwitch Orping said we may be able to bring Cristiano home for a teeny bit, as long as she can come."

Hari plucked right up, just as she suspected, and she gave him one last gentle smile before allowing him his privacy.

 _'This is the **best** birthday ever.'_ Hari thought to himself. He wasn't expecting a reply, but the soft _I agree_ from Tom made it all the more special.

When he finished dressing he slowly creaked his door open, still apprehensive of the voices coming from the kitchen. He rounded the corner and almost blanched at how many people were there.

"Wotcher Hari!"

Ah, so that was _Nymphadora_. He thought the odd name quite fit with her electric bubblegum hair that seemed to tangle even worse than his own. Wisely, he kept any comment about it to himself.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter."

And that was the not-Ms. Figg.

"I'm Amelia Bones, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

She outstretched her hand and Hari was unsure if he was allowed to touch her, or if there was a special protocol he was supposed to follow. Did he have to kiss her hand? He did so just in case, making sure not to grasp to hard to let his own hand or mouth linger where they could be severely unwanted. He thought he had made a mistake when her face dusted pink and she began choking.

"Well! Isn't he a little gentleman! Much more so than our son, I'll say, eh Milly, dear?"

Another woman wrapped her arms around Mrs. Bones' waist, who turned to her and began trying to smother her own laughter in the new woman's shoulder.

"You'll have to forgive my wife, I fear you may have just swept her off her feet! You'll have to forgive me as well, for I may be a teensy-bit jealous." The new woman _(the other Mrs. Bones?)_ seemed to be attempting very hard not to burst into giggles. She was a sight next to her wife—wild, long blonde hair and sparkling green eyes with delicate pale skin contrasted with Ms. Amelia's dark brown hair that was pulled tightly up on her head and tanned skin that shown small scars where Hari could see. Her voice was also softer, and reminded Hari more of Lily while Ms. Amelia mirrored Ms. Figg. He decided he quite like the Mrs. Bones'.

"Oh dear, I haven't even introduced myself! I'm Belladonna, call me Donna please, and this is our son Olivar, and our niece Susan."

She pushed forward two children that seemed to be around Hari's age, a girl with fiery-red hair that reminded Hari of a fox, and a boy that seemed to be a carbon copy of Ms. Donna if she had whacked all her hair off. Hari gently took their hands one at a time, and simply shook them now that he knew it was fine. The redhead—Susan, Hari assumed—pulled an offended face when he had shaken his, however.

"I suppose my aunt is the only lady present?"

When Hari's face turned stricken she immediately lit up like the Yule lights Hari had always loved and began giggling madly, rivaling her aunt.

"You _hardly_ qualify as a _lady_. The crushed bit of that beetle I found on my shoe, _maybe_."

"Oh _shut up_ Olivar!"

"Children, stop fighting _this instant_." Ms. Amelia seemed to of recovered, but despite her no-nonsense tone that had the two bucking up, her face threatened to break out into another grin.

"Well, if you'll excuse my behavior, I'm Amelia Bones, as you know, and you may call me Amelia. This is my apprentice, Nymph—"

 _"Don't call me Nymphadora!"_ To Hari's surprise, the bubblegum pink hair the woman had previously been sporting seemed to _boil_ into a deep red that seemed to steam. She leveled a rather impressive glare to a rather unimpressed Ms. Amelia, before her hair bubbled back to electric pink and she seized Hari's hand herself. With the way she started accosting his hand, Hari thought he may be lucky to have one left after she was finished.

"I'm _Tonks_." She put special emphasis on the name and for a moment Hari was terrified if she had been able to read his mind earlier. "Number-one auror trainee, top of my field, gold star, absolutely at your service at _any_ time!" She began prattling off ranks and terms and stories that Hari didn't even half-understand before she was gently nudged aside by a somewhat exasperated-looking Ms. Figg.

"Well, now that you've met everyone, perhaps we should have lunch? I had hoped to go out, but I'm afraid I don't know what you like best." She seemed a bit upset at the prospect, and Hari hurried to reassure her.

"Don't worry, Ms. Figg, I don't think any place in the whole wide world could beat your cooking."

At the sight of her teary eyes, he was terrified he had said something wrong until a large smile broke out of her face and Ms. Donna's laughter rang throughout the house.

"Yes, well, Let's eat then, hmm?"

* * *

It could certainly be said that while Hari was a bit biased towards Ms. Figg's cooking, he most definitely wasn't wrong. She had prepared a large meal fit for an entire army of guests, having a large magical creature Hari felt a bit guilty that he didn't know the name of for the main course, with sides of both muggle and magical origins.

He had also learned that Susan was currently twelve versus Olivar's ten, and that they were both ecstatic to have someone right in the middle. While they were cousins, Hari believed they couldn't of been closer if they had been born siblings. They bickered over absolutely _everything_ , and much to Hari's amusement _(and everyone else's chargin)_ , had roped Tonks into over half off their arguments, with at least one starting a sneak food-fight. That one had ended rather abruptly at Ms. Figg's threats of withholding cake, along with one Susan covered in some sort of rice and bean paste, one Olivar doused in sparkling grape cider, and one Hari covered face-first into what had looked and _felt_ like a pie, and Tonks with what could have been a broken nose.

Ms. Figg had then brought out the cake after Ms. Donna had hastily spelled away the mess while Ms. Amelia spelled Tonks' nose clean and healed, all because A—Ms. Figg was nearly in hysterics over her kitchen floor, and B—Tonks had begun to raise _her_ wand to try to clean. It was a tall, white cake decorated with coconut shavings and dried fruits, with a duo of sizzling 1's atop it that changed colour every time they sparked.

It was one of the best things Hari had ever seen _(maybe only slightly beat by waking up to Ms. Figg making him breakfast)_.

They all sang _Happy Birthday_ to him, albeit the newly dubbed trio of terror all chimed in with disasterfully different versions that each had Hari cackling.

And while Hari was more than grateful for the food, and the cake, and especially the company, he couldn't imagine that they had gotten him _presents_.

Ms.' Donna and Amelia had gotten him the books he would need at Hogwarts, and Ms. Amelia had waived it off when Hari protested and tried to give them back because _it's too much! You shouldn't spend so much on me!_

"We got a discount either way! A bundle so we could get Olivar's as well, even if it is a tad early."

Susan and Olivar had turned in fistfulls of their pocket money to buy him a small basket full of sweets from a shop called _Honeydukes_ , and Susan shrugged at the _But you shouldn't of_ —that was aimed at her.

"Hey, as long as you admit Hufflepuff is the superior house, we're cool."

Hari nodded despite Olivar's protests that Gryffindor was the best, and Tom's mental _Gryffidiot_.

Tonks had gotten him a small pouch that he didn't see the point of but was thankful for anyway, until she stuck her _entire arm_ into the pouch and pulled out several objects that Hari was positive were much too large to fit into it. The things she pulled out were met with a highly disapproving Ms. Figg, who was assured that Hari wasn't _interested in that pranking nonsense, thankyouverymuch!_ Which tonks had retaliated with a smart _But he has a legacy to live up to!_

The room went tense and silent for a moment, with Tonks' hair turning a more pastel pink that matched the flushing of her face when she realized what she had said. Susan was the one to break the silence, thankfully.

"Well, I dunno. The marauders mostly got caught didn't they? I know it's a quick assumption, but I don't think Hari's that much of a Gryffindork—I mean idiot. Well, same thing really."

 _That_ had started a "House Pride" war that seemed to even stretch to Ms. Figg, who was adamant that Ravenclaw had the highest hand, and the Mrs.' Bones teasing each other over Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff.

It had finally settled down when Hari had thanked everyone a bit loudly, which put Ms. Figg in a burst of embarrassment.

"Oh _dear_! I almost forgot my gift to you, darling!"

Once again, Hari's stuttered protests were ignored as Ms. Figg rushed through the living room into her bedroom. He didn't think he could imagine a better gift than this—than anything he'd been given by his new friends and everything Ms. Figg had ever done for him.

Ms. Figg's gift was an emotional one.

She returned holding a plain, manilla envelope with a few coloured paper clips peeking out of the side. She sat down on her weathered couch beside Hari and gently placed the folder onto his lap. He gently lifted the edge of the folder to reveal a bunch of papers covered in legalese he couldn't begin to hope to understand.

"Ms. Figg—-um, I don't—"

"They're adoption papers, Hari."

Everyone held their breath. You could of heard a pin drop to the floor. Hari stared at the papers, uncomprehending, his eyes beginning to water.

"I know I can't replace Lily, but, I—I want to be your mother, Hari. I—"

 _"You already are."_ His voice was hoarse and he swore he could hear Ms. Amelia shushing a tearful Ms. Donna. Tonks was unabashedly blowing her nose, and subsequently being elbowed by a sniffling Susan.

"You—you've done more for me—You've taken care—You—Ms. Figg—"

Hari could no longer form a coherent sentence. His breaths became drowned out by his sobbs and he desperately flung himself at her, absently noting the soft drips he could feel falling in his hair. He could feel Tom in his head, mimicking a sensation that felt like Ms. Figg's fingers running through his hair.

"W-well then," she sniffled, and brought a hanky to her nose, "I suppose it would be rather improper to keep addressing me as _Ms. Figg_ , now wouldn't it?"

Hari huffed out a quiet, watery laugh and tried to recall the pronunciation he heard now multiple times a week.

"I—I suppo-pose so, _Mamãe_."

The others clapped for him and he was hugged tightly by each guest, with blessings and well wishes and whispers of _congratulations_!

The rest of the afternoon was spent a tiny bit tearfully, with a foreign warmness to the house that Hari hoped never left.

* * *

The excitement of the day gave Hari a guaranteed easy passage into sleep. However, he was not eased into dreams.

He was inside his mindscape again, only he couldn't sense Tom, so he knew he must be asleep.

 _'But how can I be here **and** be asleep? Tom was with me all the other times…..'_

Hari rubbed at his eyes, causing the stars in his vision to crackle. He could feel more than see the tips of each one beginning to connect with wisps of what looked like a coloured black hole. He expected to be taken back to the snake-ladies' _(lady's?)_ realm when his outward eye "blinked," but instead he was shot into the middle of what he could only imagine as Hell.

There was the castle he recognized from Tom, yet it seemed to fade in and out of various states of disarray:

The castle would first appear as it had when Tom had introduced it—large, obtrusive, magnificent. Hari watched as the sky turned from a sleepy blue into a hazy grey, large creatures beating against the clouds and screeching just so that Hari's ear were ringing and he had begun to claw at them. Hari knew these creatures from Tom's scoffing about the follies of muggles who believed they could be so easily slain—these were _dragons_. The sky lit up in oranges, blues, and whites of dragonfire, allowing Hari to see the grounds covered in more bodies than he could begin to count, and he choked on the stench that assaulted him. Smoke filled the air, and Hari gasped at the mockery of a reprieve from the smell of rotting corpses, only to inhale and have his throat burned from the inside out.

The image swayed, and returned to the immaculate picture it had originally been, before a new horror descended upon it.

He do nothing more than watch, solidified in place, as strange plants sprouted from the ground and grew at a rate Hari was vaguely sure not even chloromancy could accomplish. There had to be dozens that Hari hadn't a name for, in colours that reminded him of the dark parts of lakes no one ever swam to, or the frigid snow he had nearly frozen in. They covered the grounds, breaking up terrain and leaving terrible gashes in the earth, ploughing through the stone walls as if they weren't even there, leaving a crumbling castle in their wake. Faceless people began to burst from the large, ornate doors, and Hari couldn't even scream a warning at them before the plants opened up _hundreds_ of dripping mouth on each tendril and struck like a snake in brush. Green-black syrup dripped from between thorny teeth, mingling with the deep red that stained what was left of the grasses beneath, and Hari didn't think he'd ever be able to get the screaming out of his head.

When Hari thought he was going to go mad from not being able to move—not being able to even _speak_ , the image fizzled out and the scenery around him appeared as if the horrors he had just witnessed never existed.

Hari didn't know if the next scene was better or worse than the previous ones. The castle laid in ruins, bodies in school uniforms mingling with bodies in uniforms Hari recognized from St. Mungo's. This time, the bodies were twitching in and out of corporeality like the static on Ms—on _Mamãe's_ telly. Bodies teleported all over the grounds with varying states of gore ripped from their bodies, viscera scattered around them, before disappearing and reappearing in a new place, and an entirely new state. Despite the carnage, everything was completely _silent_. Everything was _cold_. Everything was _dark_.

It started as soft as a breeze on his skin—the whispering. Voices began overlapping each other, trying to speak over one another, each begging Hari for _something_ he couldn't understand. They grew impossibly loud, impossibly incoherent, drowning him, amd before he knew it he was falling through the mud-like layers of his mindscape.

He fell back into the bridge he could scarcely remember. The silks from her swarming around him and holding him close, trying to comfort him through the shrieking in his head. He could feel them mingling together, an overbearing presence in his mind that made him feel as if he were about to implode. Just when Hari thought he couldn't take anymore, his throat raw from begging, they mingled into one and spoke with the voice of the yellow snake—

 _"When hope turns to dust_

 _And blood turns to rust_

 _A child goes to war_

 _When the blind can see_

 _And so walks the lame_

 _A child goes to war again_

 _When fire fills the sky_

 _And the Gods collide_

 _A child goes to war."_

Hari opened his mouth to question, but was violently ripped from his mindscape by the sound of his _Mamãe's_ screaming.

* * *

 _"No, I will **not** let you take him!"_

Ms. Figg seemed quite insistent on letting someone named _Dumbledore_ know that she wouldn't be letting him take Hari away.

 _"They would've let him **die** , Albus! How can you say he's better off there!?"_

The answering voice was too soft for Hari to understand, and he felt a tiny bit of shame seep through him as he opened the door completely silent and creeped down his hallway. The minute he saw his Mamãe though, he almost wished he hadn't.

Her hair fell in ratty tangles in a mockery of last night's curls, she was slumped over in her favourite green armchair, and she was _crying_. Hari didn't like it when she cried. He completely ignored the old man sitting across from her _(ironically, in the seat Hari had sat himself hours a day earlier)_ , barreling himself into his _Mamãe's_ chest and whispering quiet _it's alrights_ into her tear-soaked blouse.

"Ah, Hari, my boy. I admit, I was hoping this wouldn't be the way we first met."

Hari turned on Ms. Figg's lap and spared the old man a glance.

He was an odd-looking fellow, Hari thought. He had a rather impressive beard and mop of hair, both which were silver white and trailed past his navel. He was wearing a suit, which would have looked as if it belonged on _anyone else_ than this particular man if not for the appalling shade of yellow it sported. Hari fixed him with the nastiest look he could muster, one that mustn't of been too impressive with his sleep-stunted eyes and sniffling nose.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I've come to take you home." He fixed Hari with a gentle smile. Hari simply sniffed back.

"I _am_ home."

Dumbledore's smile grew stiff. "Hari, my boy, to your _real home_. Your aunt and uncle miss you dreadfully."

"My _aunt_ put me in a hospital with half my arm melted off. Y'know, _after_ she put me in the hospital for nearly forcing me to _freeze to death_."

Dumbledore dropped all attempts of a smile. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap and looked at Hari very seriously. Hari, in turn, could feel something cold pressing against what felt like the inside of his forehead.

 _'Look away! He's a Legilimens.'_

Tom didn't have to tell him twice before Hari fixed his gaze on the odd periwinkle tie around Dumbledore's neck instead of anywhere on his face. The only indication that perhaps Dumbledore suspected Hari was purposefully avoiding him was a miniscule tightening to his features, before he put on another genial smile.

"Now, Hari, my boy, I'm sure you're exaggerating. We all know you've had some— _trouble_ —in school." Before Hari, or even Ms. Figg, could open their mouths to speak, Dumbledore raised a hand and continued.

"You've put me in a precarious position, my boy, and I'm afraid I have no other alternatives. Either you willingly return to the Dursley house and be allowed entry to Hogwarts, or be forced back with your acceptance letter withheld."

"Oh, Albus, you _can't_ —"

"Now, now, Arabella, there are stakes in place you can't _begin_ to imagine. Hari's relatives provide protection from Voldemort and his followers that even _I_ can't replicate; that even _Gringotts_ can't replicate."

Hari felt his _Mamãe_ go still, her arms wound tightly around him, as if she was afraid if she let go he would slip away. For all Hari knew, he would.

"But _Albus_ —"

Hari knew they had lost from the tone in Ms. Figg's voice. She _never_ sounded like that. He could feel Tom's scales bristling out, scraping against his mental walls as he whipped back and forth in a mockery of pacing.

 _'I'll kill him. I don't care how—I'll kill him—'_

Hari gently tuned out Tom's tirade and stood. He half-expected his _Mamãe's_ arms to reel around him like a vice, but they simply fell away as if they'd never been there.

"If—if I go with you, can I still see Ms. Figg?"

Dumbledore gained a strange, almost _satisfaction_ from Hari's question.

"Yes, yes of course, my boy."

"And—and you'll keep them from hurting me?"

"Have no worries, my boy."

It didn't exactly quell Hari's fears, but he didn't think he'd get much more than that.

"I-I need to—to go pack. My th—"

"No need, my boy!" _My boy_. Hari decided he quiet hated that phrase. "Your relatives have assured me that they have everything you need."

"Can I at least say goodbye?"

"My dear boy, what do you think this is?"

His smile was inviting but his words felt like tempered steel against Hari's turned and gave Ms. Figg one last hug, inhaling as deep as he could to try to memorize the way she smelled, the way she felt, and tried to forget the way she sounded when having her heart broken all over again. He stepped away and tried to take in the sight of their house—of _her_ house—one last time, but he only caught a glimpse before he felt like a fishhook had slotted itself behind his navel and forced him away.

It was all too soon that he found himself back in front of the glaringly pristine front door of _Number Four, Privet Drive_. Dumbledore began to hum to himself as he patted down his coat, seemingly absent minded.

"I almost forgot! Here we are—" He handed Hari a crisp envelope with large, curved letters that addressed it to one _H. Potter_. "Your Hogwarts letter, dear boy."

Hari could only vindictively recall the promises of wonder and excitement from receiving a letter that had been told to him by Tom. This felt more like ashes in his mouth.

"Oh, and Hari? One more thing."

He looked at Dumbledore, who had procured a strange, bulbed wand from _gods_ knew where. "Just a bit of insurance, my boy."

The last thing Hari knew before he was consumed by darkness was the tip of a wand pressed to his mid-forehead, and a whisper of a spell that sounded more like a betrayal.

 _"Obliviate."_

* * *

 _And that's a wrap, folks!_

Random Note: 5.5k-ish words, and one somewhat miffed beta.

 _Oh well!_ I had fun writing this, and I've already started on _Gods and Strangers: Mercy of Venus,_ but also on a _(or two)_ Destiel fic _(s)_ requested of me.

You can contact me at my tumblr: validatedasshole

The "poem" or prophecy or whatever you wanna deem it is original by _yours truly_ , and thats probably why it sucks so much. eh. whatever

Wubbalubbadubdub 100 years, and good night


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